


The Princess and the Serpent

by longforgottenhymn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I'm taking liberties with Arthurian legend, M/M, Wing Grooming, author believes in happy endings though, author knows next to nothing about old english, blatant misuse of thee thy and thine, might count as a slow burn, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 06:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longforgottenhymn/pseuds/longforgottenhymn
Summary: ‘He wants me to marry his sister.’Crowley choked on his wine, looked up over the rim of the cup, and hacked out a loud laugh that echoed through the cave and into the night. In the distance wolves stopped to listen, confused at not being able to decipher the meaning behind this new howl.‘It’s not funny!’ Aziraphale protested, though it rather was, in a way, ‘Apparently I look the age of someone who should by all accounts be married. Now they’ve gone and assumed I haven’t been able to find anyone, and they simply won’t take no for an answer!'Or: Aziraphale is still a Knight of Camelot, and he needs someone to pretend to be his betrothed. Who better than a demon who's recently quit being a Knight himself and now enjoys wearing gowns over armour? After all, there's no harm in pretending to be in love... Because that's all they're doing, isn't it?Is it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Good Omens fic, and I've read loads of the other ones that are on here… Everyone is super talented, and I'm kinda scared to join the party to be honest! ':)
> 
> All my knowledge of King Arthur (and the 6th century) comes from BBC's Merlin, so, yeah. This fic is going to take some liberties with the characters and events - see it as my own interpretation of the legend if you will. I hope it won't be too weird!
> 
> With that said, kick back and enjoy :D

_6th century_

_Camelot, Albion_

Aziraphale was very much still against the arrangement Crowley had proposed last they met. He was, truly. But he couldn’t help to think that there was some logic to it.

Thrice he’d been sent on quests to vanquish the Black Knight, to lessen his hold on some village or take back stolen cattle. He couldn’t fight Crowley, though, and an argument would probably only lead to them getting blissfully drunk in some tavern, lose their horses and make utter fools of themselves. So, thrice Aziraphale had made half-hearted quests to thwart the demon, and turned back after a day’s ride without actually trying. Both Arthur and Heaven would expect him to use whatever means necessary. That could only lead to one of them being discorporated, and he really couldn’t do that to his… well, his friend.

He was an angel, made to love all living things. It wasn’t his fault that he liked Crowley, he told himself. But Heaven didn’t need to know any of that.

‘Sir Aziraphale,’ King Arthur proclaimed. Though youth had blond curls fall over his eyes, the crown sat ever so high on his head. It suited him. ‘Come here.’

Aziraphale, who knew this didn’t bode well for his reputation as the Black Knight’s nemesis, suppressed a sigh.

‘My King, how can I serve you?’

‘I have a quest for thee.’

_Bollocks._

‘Ah, how… lovely. Black Knight again, is it? Can’t seem to shake him. Evil bugger, that one.’

‘Not this time,’ Arthur said. ‘In fact, he hasn’t been seen for years. It seems thine last conquest went better than you feared.’

‘Oh.’ A mixture of relief and worry twisted in Aziraphale’s belly. ‘How, er, wonderful. What do you ask of me then?’

‘There hath been sightings of a great Beast in the western mountains. The villages nearby have been robbed of sheep. Children have gone missing. There’s been reports of a dragon-like creature, without legs or wings.’

‘So just a big snake, then?’

‘It’s been known to breathe fire. I’d only trust thee with this,’ Arthur said, and clapped down a heavy hand on the Knight’s shoulder. ‘Thine horse hath been prepared.’

It wasn’t a question, or an order. It was a command.

‘Of course, my King. I’ll leave right away.’ Slaying a mighty beast – or relocating it to a safe environment, away from humans – was at least something he could do. Saving the villages, blessing the families who’d lost their children. Heaven would be thrilled. Aziraphale was quite certain he could get a decade’s work done in a fortnight. Perhaps he could retire, then, spend some time on wines and that new cheese Spain was said to have discovered…

Crowley’s voice came back to him then, as it was bound to do. _We could both stay at home. The end results would be the same._ Perhaps next time that the Black Knight appeared, Aziraphale would at least think it over.

He mounted his horse in Camelot’s courtyard, riding gently out the gates. Lord Gilbert caught his eye before he could escape, nodding solemnly. His sister was young and noble, and apparently of such beauty that denying her hand would be a right offence towards the Gilbert family. Aziraphale swallowed dryly. Yes, retiring was beginning to sound better and better. Somewhere far off, farther than Spain. He could sail across the Sea. Surely there were blessings to be done there as well.

* * *

He stopped twice on his way, both times for the horse’s sake. When the third day rose, the mare walked through the dirty streets of a settlement on the figurative doorstep to the mountains, finding itself quite invigorated for only having rested a mere two hours a night. A whisper spread through the village. Before they could reach the other end, half of the people had already emerged and swarmed the path, offering their gratitude.

‘It’s no bother, really.’

‘Please, allow us to feed you,’ a woman fussed, ‘We still have some ham from Easter’s feast. It will do thee well.’

At the outskirts of the crowd stood a trio of beggars. Homeless, possibly, clothes littered with holes and caked by mud. One of them coughed twice, spitting onto the ground. Aziraphale sent a quick miracle her way.

Something seemed off about the air. Sick, even.

‘I really can’t stay,’ he said, frowning.

‘Probably for the best,’ a man muttered.

‘Can’t have him catch it,’ his wife whispered. ‘Can’t have a Knight of Camelot fall ill on our food.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the food,’ the first woman said, a little too loudly, and then much lower, ‘It’s not the food that’s the problem, now, is it?’

‘Is something wrong?’

The villagers all turned back to face the noble, whose steed had come to a halt.

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Only the dragon, taking our sheep. We need the wool for next winter.’

‘It’s a lindworm,’ the man said, and his wife shushed him.

‘I might take you up on the offer later,’ Aziraphale amended. ‘On my way back.’ And then he could take a closer look on whatever illness had seized the village as well.

The crowd looked confused. ‘On your way back,’ someone said sceptically, ‘yes, of course…’

‘Remember the princess!’ an elderly woman shouted then, ‘The dragon hath taken a princess. Too young to die… Tried to warn us about the beast, she did…’

A murmur of agreement went through the mass, and Aziraphale smiled politely. ‘I’ll make sure to look for her.’

The angel rode on, leaving a few more miracles behind. The air was still thick with… something. Malice, perhaps, or smoke from the fire-breathing Beast’s cavern. He hated to pass on good meat, but there were lives to be saved and a retirement to arrange. It could wait until after.

* * *

The mare climbed quickly up the dwindling paths until it found one, snaking off into a valley, littered with skulls. Fog clouded the farther reach of it. It was a bit much, thought Aziraphale, as he spurred his steed on. Then he thought, if the dragon likes mist and cold and being left alone, perhaps rural Scotland would do it good.

The fog cleared somewhat, leaving faint mist behind. A wet cold crept through the chain-mail and up his spine. There was a rumble in the distant, but not of thunder. The sky was grey and the path even more so, and in the shadows and mist, an enormous silhouette slithered.

‘Hello,’ said Aziraphale kindly, ‘I presume you are the Great Beast everyone is talking about?’

The slithering stopped. There was no answer.

‘You see, they’ve asked me to kill you – no need to worry, though, dear fellow, I merely wish to propose an, ah, relocation. You see, the villagers-’

Two eyes appeared in the mist. Yellow and huge, staring unblinkingly at him.

‘Oh,’ he said, somewhat uncomfortable now, ‘there you are. So, the villagers- you see, their sheep-’

_Zzzzzz,_ said the mist.

‘I beg your pardon?’

_ Zzzzzrrrr._

‘I’m sorry,’ the mare started to shift underneath him, trying to back away, ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’

_ZZZZZZZZRRRRRRAAAAAA_ _H_ _!!!_

The horse neighed, backing up on its hind legs, and threw Aziraphale off. Since he’d been loyal to her and she to him since five years back, so he’d really not expected her to abandon him now. He managed a surprised shout before he fell in a heap of armour, hitting his head on the back of the helmet hard enough to see stars.

_Damned metal. Landing on the ground would be much more _ _merciful_ _ than this._

The mare ran off in a clapper of hooves and a dark shadow rose over him. It stared down like two blood moons, a slit of black running down the middle of each. In his hazy, painful state, it took Aziraphale a moment to recognise him.

‘C… Crawley?’

Slowly, like a vulture unfurling its wings, ready to strike, the eyes blinked and the shadow retreated into a much smaller shape. A human one, to be more precise, with the same eyes and long curls of red.

‘_Crowley,_ Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake.’

‘Thought… snake-form… Crawly…’

‘Are you hurt?’ Crowley asked, face twisting into something sour. ‘You’re not really hurt, are you?’

‘You… dragon…’

‘Yes, I’m the dragon. Well, more of a lindworm really, but I’m not feeling picky about it.’ Crowley hovered, like he wasn’t sure what to do, shifting his weight. The dress’ wide skirts swished with movement – a simple black laced with golden threads no common-folk would be able to afford.

‘Princess,’ Aziraphale said, remembering the old woman’s words. ‘Kidnapped… you.’

‘I haven’t kidnapped anyone,’ the demon snapped, crossing his arms. ‘I did take some sheep, though. Demon’s gotta eat and spread mischief. Two birds, one stone. Quite clever, really.’

The angel leaned into the ground and groaned.

‘They ought to rethink those helmets,’ Crowley said, hovering intently, that sour look back on his face, ‘Harder landing on metal than the ground. Lying around on it won’t do you any good, so you might as well...’ He made a gesture that probably meant _get up_ but looked more like _I’m __dispelling a strong fart._

‘Har,’ said Aziraphale and promptly passed out.

* * *

He came to quite groggily, though once his brain had gotten past the _not-dead_ bit, it landed on _huge beast looming over me._ He shot up, knocking his head against a sharp rock and fell back again. Something hissed at him.

‘Ah! For the love of- it’s me!’ The rock, which wasn’t a rock at all, rubbed its forehead. Through bleary eyes he could make out a cave, Crowley and the fire behind him. A large mutton leg roasted over it. ‘Bloody- Heaven...’

‘Oh. It’s you.’ The Principality blinked his vision clearer and noted, with some surprise, the worry on his friend’s face. The back of his head throbbed and he felt rather sore all over. ‘What happened?’

‘You fell. Off your horse, on your arse. Quite a sight to behold, I must say.’

‘Ah. That’s… it doesn’t hurt as much now.’

Crowley was decidedly not looking at him. The demon mumbled something like _must’ve been lucky,_ but it wasn’t very convincing.

‘You healed me,’ Aziraphale realised. ‘_You._’

‘Don’t thank me,’ he said darkly, yellow eyes flashing in warning. Deciding not to test fate further today, the angel merely smiled. Crowley scoffed and turned towards the fire.

‘So… this is where you live, then?’

‘I sleep in human form. Need to be in the sun otherwise, and people aren’t too friendly towards… monsters. So, cave.’

‘They don’t know that you’re harmless,’ Aziraphale tried to console him.

‘I’m not harmless! I’m a _demon._ I’ve stolen their cattle and poisoned the water-’

‘You _what?_’

‘-and done all sorts of demonic… deeds! Lots of them!’ Crowley looked around like there were eyes in then dark shadows of the cave, and Aziraphale did the same just in case there were. As far as his mortal eyes could see, though, there was nothing, and the only Evil smell around came from Crowley. No other demons then. He decided to let it go, and asked,

‘So… cooking, are you?’

‘Mm.’

‘And… not the Black Knight any more. Apparently there’s been no sightings of him in years! Grew tired of my thwarting, did you?’

‘Got another assignment,’ Crowley said, still staring into the dark.

‘Oh. Well...’ Running out of things to say, Aziraphale tried to sit up. Perhaps he’d overstayed his welcome – Crowley clearly wasn’t interested in maintaining a conversation, and he did have a village to get back to. The water would need to be miraculously cleaned and freed of sickness, and then there was the matter of the missing children… Surely the demon hadn’t killed them? He did have morals, even if they were skew. Killing children had always been off the table. Right?

So, Aziraphale tried to sit up, and then fell back with a groan. There was a sheep-skin underneath him, soft and forgiving. He closed his eyes and imagined that his head didn’t ache all that much. It didn’t work.

The drawback of being an unselfish angel was that miracles didn’t work on his own corporation – no need, really, when his sole purpose was to bless others. Heaven hadn’t thought it necessary.

A moment later the pain left, dizzyingly fast. Crowley hovered over him again, hands resting on either side of his forehead.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said in a daze. ‘Oh, thank you.’

‘I said. Don’t.’ Crowley looked around again, then hissed, ‘Do you know how much trouble I’d get in if Hell knew I’d _healed_ an angel?’

‘You really didn’t have to, you know. Not that I’m not grateful!’ he hurriedly added, and the demon sneered, ‘But you didn’t have to. It would’ve healed on its own – a few weeks and I would’ve been fine.’

‘You fell on a rock. Big one. Back of your head was… didn’t look good. Blood and stuff, you know. Would’ve been an embarrassing way to go, and I didn’t know if you’d… you know.’ Crowley scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

‘How long was I out?’

‘Two days.’

Aziraphale frowned. ‘You could’ve left me outside. Where are we even? It’s not far, is it?’

‘I couldn’t just leave you! Wolves roam these parts when I’m not in snake-form and then the rains – there was thunder coming, and you know how the human body gets when it’s cold and soggy. Anyway, I’m sure you’re the most gullible angel there is. Wouldn’t want Heaven to send someone else back if you didn’t wake up.’

Aziraphale was quite sure he was glowing. He felt like it with the gentle flame burning in his chest, making him all warm and fuzzy. Love – the friendly kind, of course, like he loved Sir Lancelot and oxen stew. Love was pouring out of him and into the room, and… no, that was not the only thing present, there was also comradely love coming from somewhere else, like Sir Lancelot’s when they sparred together, and- oh. Oh, it was coming from Crowley. Crowley, who had risked his life to save an angel.

‘Shut it,’ the demon glared. _I couldn’t leave you,_ his words echoed through Aziraphale’s head.

Though the concept wouldn’t be invented for some centuries, he realised that Crowley was, and in a way always had been, his best friend.

‘You won’t mind if I rest here awhile longer, then?’ he said, still metaphorically glowing, ‘I’m afraid I still feel quite queasy. All the better thanks to you-’ and here he made sure to continue quickly lest he earn himself a scolding- ‘but I’m still not at my best.’

‘Eh. Might as well. Meat’s getting ready.’

At last, some common ground.

With a snake-like slither to it, the Serpent of Eden went over to the fire and poked at it. Embers settled on the long sleeves of his dress, fizzling out like a coat of water lay over the cloth. Aziraphale took the opportunity to ask,

‘So, erm, what name do you go by nowadays? Among the humans. Lord Crowley? Lady Crowley? Uh, Princess-’

‘_Princess?_’ Crowley squeaked indignantly, ‘Where- what- do I look like a bloody princess?’

‘Those are some fine silks,’ Aziraphale nodded to the dress, ‘Besides, I was only asking because someone on my way here said the dragon-’

‘Lindworm.’

‘-that the Beast had kidnapped a princess. Must’ve seen you in human form, because, well – you haven’t actually kidnapped someone, have you? And- and the children gone missing… surely that’s not-’

‘Oh, so now I’m a child-killer, am I?’ Crowley’s eyes darkened, quite literally, into a burning orange.

‘I’m only asking,’ the angel defended himself, ‘You are a _demon_ after all – it’s not strange to suppose Hell might’ve told you to, you know. Get rid of some.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Well- good!’

Silence passed between them and Crowley stirred the fire with his fingers again. The flames licked his skin, never to linger nor burn.

‘I’m sorry,’ Aziraphale said softly. His friend’s back was turned on him now, but he could see those bony shoulders tensing and then dropping again. Fiery eyes turned back to meet dark blues, and dimmed immediately.

‘I haven’t been a Lady in some time,’ the Serpent mused. ‘Humans, they’ve set all these boundaries on themselves. If someone thinks I look too much like a man in a dress, they’ll become… inconvenient. Doesn’t matter that I’m a demon, really. They gender everything nowadays, put things into imaginary boxes and eliminate everything that’s not in its designated place. I didn’t even tempt them into doing that. Would’ve gotten the Commendation of the millennia if I had. Never have to work another day in my life.’

‘Mm. And yet the tunics are so much more comfortable,’ Aziraphale said. ‘I miss when they were in fashion for everyone. Besides, it’s hard to follow the trends, and I’m expected to look respectable so I can get around and do my miracles wherever they’re needed. I mustn’t stick out.’

‘Strange lot, these humans.’

‘Quite.’

Crowley offered a wry smile and poked at the roasting meat. ‘Pretty sure this is done. Left it hanging for, uh… a day? Maybe more, dunno. You eat, right? Regularly, I mean.’

‘It’s quite pleasant.’

‘Except for the hunger. You’ve gotten used to the routine – your body must be starving by now.’

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, savouring the scent of crisp skin and the juicy meat underneath. It wouldn’t be quite as lovely without herbs and roots on the side, but it did smell wonderful.

‘Yes. I suppose I am.’ His stomach seized and twisted at the reminder of its emptiness. It distracted him long enough that he tried to sit, and then even stand, before his brain caught up to what was going on. ‘Oh no,’ Aziraphale said, knees buckling, and threw up.

‘Ew,’ Crowley wrinkled his nose. With a snap of his fingers, the sick was gone. ‘Lie down for Heaven’s sake – I’ll bring you the food, all right? See, this is what happens when you let your corporation get the upper hand on you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the angel said miserably, lying on his side. He inched towards the edge of the sheep-skin in case another accident might occur. It wouldn’t do to sully wool as soft as this.

‘I’m not used to this,’ Crowley said, and only hovered for a moment before he knelt down, conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air. He began to dab away invisible spots of sick from the sheep-skin, fussing over the curls. ‘Healing’s not in my job description – might’ve gotten it all wrong, might’ve turned your lungs into cutlery. Might’ve turned your entire insides into cutlery, or cheese for that matter – point is, I’m not experienced.’

Aziraphale blinked up at him. ‘You’re taking the blame?’

‘No, I’m just saying- gah, just shut up and rest, yeah? And tell me when you want some blessed food and I’ll bring it to you. Or drink.’

‘Didn’t you poison the water?’

‘Just… shush. I’ll poison all the wines in Albion if you don’t.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Aziraphale smiled, content again. He closed his eyes. Just as with food, his body craved sleep now that it’d gotten a taste of it – a moment before his consciousness left to explore the concept of dreams, which it hadn’t had time for in its state of near-death, he swore he felt a gentle touch brush hair away from his forehead, but it was probably nothing but imagination.

* * *

‘You know, I’m sure Hell would’ve, uh… already sent someone if they’d noticed.’

They were sitting now, sharing the same sheep-skin. The meat passed back and forth between them. Wine had been conjured after the sun descended outside, leaving them alone in the dark with only firelight to see by. Crowley had since long sprawled out, bonelessly draped against the rock wall behind them with one leg slung over Aziraphale’s elegantly crossed ones. They were both pleasantly drunk.

‘As would Heaven, I presume,’ the demon mused, gesturing with his cup of wine. The sigil of Camelot gleamed on it. King Arthur’s favourite, said to be made out of pure gold; back in the castle, servants were running around in a frenzy looking for it.

‘Would be a priority if they’d noticed. Demon tamp- tampering- compromise…ing an angel.’

‘Or if Hell knew I-’ Crowley paused to burp- ‘fixed you up. Ugh. ‘d be fired, probably.’

‘How would they fire you?’ Aziraphale said, refilling his own cup. It helped to numb the pain, even if most of it had retreated all on its own by now.

‘Uh. I don’t know. Execution?’

‘Don’t you joke about that kind of stuff. I’m too drunk to worry.’

They watched the fire together, the angel picking at a slightly burnt piece of meat. He nibbled on it, trying to decide whether it was worth swallowing or not. He wasn’t sure if he’d remember to expel his waste with a miracle or if he’d need to do it the human way. Depended on how much more he planned to drink, he supposed.

‘They’re fine, by the way.’ Crowley somehow relaxed even more, sagging against the wall. His eyes were drifting ever so slowly shut. ‘Kidsss.’

‘Did you really take ‘em?’ Aziraphale asked solemnly.

‘Got an assignment. That village’s too… good. Needed something drastic.’ The demon all but unhinged his jaw and downed the rest of the wine in one big gulp. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry they… ordered you. Know you love children.’

‘Shut up. I don’t love, ‘sss not in my nature.’

Twenty paces to their right, the cave opened up to showcase twinkling stars and a full, yellow moon. Even though thick clouds drifted about, none of them dared go near it – whether by demonic or angelic intervention was debatable, and both of them were beginning to feel too intoxicated to remember.

‘I placed them in good families,’ Crowley said. ‘On the other side of the mountains. They’re fine, no need to thwart me or anything.’

‘But… their parents. Aunts, uncles. It’s not right.’

‘Well, that’s ‘cause you’re an angel,’ he said coldly. ‘You have to say that.’

Aziraphale didn’t quite get what that meant, but he did sense the sadness simmering below the demon’s nonchalant surface. He didn’t know – and he’d certainly never ask – why exactly Crowley had Fallen. Sometimes it seemed they were of the same stock. It was easy, really, forgetting that they were sworn adversaries in the fight of Good versus Evil, where one was destined to triumph over the other.

‘Still a Knight of the Table Round?’ Crowley asked, wiggling upright and removing the leg thrown over Aziraphale’s. The cave felt much colder for it.

‘Mm. Easy position to perform miracles from. Very convenient.’

‘How long d’you suppose that’ll last? Hard to judge how long you can live somewhere until they start questioning the not-ageing bit, innit?’

‘Oh, not long now. Thinking of retiring. Gonna request a replacement somewhere far off- gotta get away, before…’

‘Before?’ the demon’s eyes glimmered with interest, ‘Trouble in paradise?’

‘I’d hardly call it that. Camelot’s perfectly Good, but...’ Aziraphale considered his next words very carefully. ‘There’s still some of… of your lot, I’d say.’

‘Don’t think there’s any demons stationed there at the moment.’

‘Not what I mean. There’s humans… corrupt ones.’

‘Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure,’ Crowley snorted. ‘Lord Righteousness.’

‘That’s not my name,’ the angel sighed, making his friend dissolve into drunken giggles, ‘And I would! If it… oh, if it weren’t for Lord Gilbert.’

‘A right bastard, I take it?

‘He wants me to marry his sister.’

Crowley choked on his wine, looked up over the rim of the cup, and hacked out a loud laugh that echoed through the cave and into the night. In the distance wolves stopped to listen, confused at not being able to decipher the meaning behind this new howl.

‘It’s not funny!’ Aziraphale protested, though it rather was, in a way, ‘Apparently I look the age of someone who should by all accounts be married. Now they’ve gone and assumed I haven’t been able to find anyone, and they simply won’t take no for an answer! And oh, she deserves much better, and-’

‘Better than an angel?’ the demon hissed between laughs.

‘She’ll want children!’ Crowley howled again, throwing his head back. ‘And I’d be expected to make an effort and all sorts of other things- it really isn’t funny, you know. I don’t know what to do!’

He emitted one final, long-suffering wheeze before quieting down, still shaking with mirth, and miracled away the wine stains that had settled on his dress. Then he huffed a breath, shaking his head.

‘Just- tell them you’re already married.’

‘I’ve been living there for years!’ the Principality wailed miserably, ‘They _know_ that’s not true.’

‘Maybe you eloped or something. I don’t know, uh… marry a woman who’d want nothing to do with you, one of them… uh, whatsitcalled...’

‘Sapphics?’

‘Yes! That.’

‘Hm,’ Aziraphale said, pretending to be wary for an appropriate amount of time before taking the demon’s advice. ‘Maybe I will. But- oh, she’ll have to be of a certain nobility – apparently that’s important. I’m a Knight of high standards, ‘parently.’

‘There has to be some kind of, uh… maybe a prince’s cousin out there who’s a sapphic,’ Crowley said, ‘It’s more common than people like to think.’

‘It won’t work,’ the angel said, slumping against cool rock, ‘I need to find her now. It won’t do otherwise – Lord Gilbert’s certain to propose the moment I ride through the gates! I saw the look on his face. It’s only a matter of time...’

Crowley wrinkled his nose. ‘But he’s not the one you’re marrying, why would _he_ ask? Does she have any say in this? Maybe she’s a sapphic...’

‘I don’t know. I think she’d prefer the King’s cook, to be honest.’

The Serpent made a noise that could’ve meant anything, and said, ‘It’s in these kinds of instances an Arrangement would benefit us both, you know.’

Aziraphale felt himself instinctively sober up. This was exactly the topic he’d been avoiding Crowley about. The being in question quickly caught on to the change in mood, sighed, and began to dispel his own wine too.

‘Ugh. Really wish we could’ve stayed drunk.’

‘You’re the one who mentioned it.’

‘Still a no, then?’ he tried to joke, but his smile was far too sad for it.

‘You’d make me Fall, Crowley.’

A cricket hopped past the cave’s opening. It started to make its way inside, felt the terrible awkwardness in the air, and decided it was best to leave for somewhere else. If it’d stopped to start chirping, it would’ve found itself set immediately ablaze. It was all for the best, really.

‘I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t,’ the Serpent said, throwing his hands up as if in surrender, but continuing the heated argument all the same. ‘It’s not the actions that make you Fall – I’d know that better than you, wouldn’t I? Huh? I never did anything evil – there wasn’t such a thing as evil, not in the beginning. I was the same as you, I did the same stuff as you, and it wasn’t what made me Fall.’

‘Then what did?’ Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley blinked, serpentine yellow covering the whites of his eyes, looking like a child scolded for something they didn’t do. ‘Bit circumstantial. I… asked questions. Too many, too much… too doubt.’ He sniffed, and looked away. ‘But you never do. You’d never question God, not for one moment, and you’re loyal, Aziraphale. You’re much too valuable to cast out.’

The unspoken _but I wasn’t_ hung heavily in the air. The cricket wasn’t anywhere nearby, but it caught fire anyway, along with all others in the relative vicinity.

‘You really think so?’ the angel asked, staring at his hands.

‘I know it.’

‘I wouldn’t know if you were tempting me. You’re far too good at it.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Crowley said, grabbing hold of Aziraphale’s wrist, ‘Not you, never. I promise.’

‘Oh,’ the angel said, overcome with emotion. Whether it was his or Crowley’s, he couldn’t say. The hand around his wrist was warm, insistent, holding on tightly without causing any pain. It was the closest to gentle he’d seen the demon be.

‘Marry me.’

It slipped out with an innocent smile, which soon turned to horror as Aziraphale realised what he’d said. ‘No- not for real! I meant- uh, I- ah-’

‘You- _what?_’

‘For show,’ he tried to clarify, ‘just to- ah, I mean- you could, could incite anger in Lord Gilbert’s heart, or… something.’

Crowley blinked, which was odd. He rarely ever blinked. ‘Are you tempting me, angel?’

‘Wha- no! Absolutely not!’

‘You _are,_’ he insisted, a sly grin spreading on his face. ‘An angel tempting a demon, and into- into marriage of all things.’ His cheeks reddened and the look of victory was replaced by something more embarrassed.

‘I really didn’t- oh well. You said Arrangement, and I thought-’

‘Actually, that’s… it’s not too far from what I was thinking.’

They took a moment to regard each other, waiting for the other to burst into laughter and brush the whole thing off as a dumb joke. Waiting for those old barriers to rise as they always did when they got too comfortable with each other – oysters in Rome leading to years of dis-communication, as if that would convince Heaven and Hell it was a one off thing. As if that would convince themselves of it.

But Crowley was Aziraphale’s best friend, and that had to count for something, right? It had to mean something, that a demon could like an angel. Be friendly. It might be a sign of redemption, it might- oh, he was making excuses now, wasn’t he?

‘I could, uh…’ Crowley said, scratching his chin, ‘You said I looked like a princess. You go home, I sit on the back of your horse, swoon at you rescuing me from the lindworm. That’ll take care of Lord Gilbert.’

‘It would,’ said the angel, relieved. He felt guilty for it, but what Heaven didn’t know couldn’t hurt it – and this was only a favour, a harmless one. A one off thing.

‘Then you’ll let me stay with you in Camelot until you retire, and I’ll get to work on tempting important people while you turn a blind eye. Works out for the both of us. That’s what I was thinking, at least – though the swooning bit’s a compromise, I’ll have you know.’

‘Of course,’ said Aziraphale, then frowned. ‘Just what sort of tempting would you be doing?’

‘Better if you don’t know,’ said Crowley dismissively. ‘But it’ll get done whether you help me or not, and this way your marital problems disappear. So… what do you say? You help me and I’ll help you? All in the name of… something. Good, Evil. Whatever.’

Aziraphale thought it over. Staying in Camelot would make his life much easier – Heaven still had a few things they wanted him to get done, and if he succeeded, he’d get a commendation. Retiring his Knighthood could wait.

‘You’d stay away from Arthur? Oh, and Guinevere – she is a lovely woman, very clever.’

‘Fine,’ Crowley grumbled. ‘Shake on it?’

‘Gladly,’ said the angel, and took the demon’s hand.

* * *

The problem was the horse – more specifically, the lack of one. It wouldn’t do to destroy the image of the dashing Knight right away. Aziraphale had standards, and an image from a story he’d heard decades past clear in his head. If they could pull this off, Lord Gilbert wouldn’t dare to spoil it by protesting. Everyone knew that King Arthur, at heart, was a big romantic.

‘Can’t you just… miracle one our way?’

‘It doesn’t go with the story.’

‘Blessed story,’ Crowley swore, stumbling over the rocky path. His dress caught on everything from gravel to small shrubbery and once, a smouldering pile of crickets.

‘It’s imperative to our mission,’ Aziraphale claimed, and almost fell over a twig.

‘Don’t get yourself concussed again,’ the demon warned him, ‘I’m not saving your arse this time.’

‘Did you do something to the road? It seems hell-bent on tripping me.’

‘Might’ve,’ Crowley admitted. ‘Made it more difficult to walk on, to keep intruders out. Might’ve raised the odds of accidents by a hundred.’

‘Was that really necessary?’ Aziraphale thought back to the ruined helmet he’d left in the cave and the melon-shaped dent in its back. No ordinary rock could manage that.

‘Maybe not. Look, we’re almost there – I only tampered with this branch of the road. I’m sure your horse is waiting at the path down the mountains.’ It wasn’t a guess, really, but a command.

They managed not to fall and break their necks by painstaking patience. By the time they’d gotten to the end of the cursed path and onto the road winding down towards the village, the old mare was waiting dutifully with a water-skin hanging by the saddle.

‘Finally,’ Crowley said, and downed the entire contents of the water-skin. He smacked his lips in appreciation. ‘Help me up, will you?’

The sun was setting blindingly radiantly, as if it wished to go out with a bang. It burned Aziraphale’s eyes as he tried to get his supposed princess up on the horse, but after a bit of fiddling, they managed to settle the demon in front of the saddle. Both his legs hung down one side, and the skirt – now even more golden and paired with a spindle tiara – draped nicely down the white steed’s flank.

‘Good enough for you?’ the Serpent asked, and Aziraphale realised he’d been staring.

‘It’ll do nicely, I think. Just, uh- what are you a princess of again?’

‘Hm. Hadn’t thought of that. I’ll make something up on the way.’

He took hold of the saddle and tried to swing himself up on the horse. By a small miracle, his armour suddenly felt lightweight and a boost settled him right in behind the demon. The Principality reached for the reins, brushed past Crowley’s waist, and jolted back again. There really wasn’t much space between them.

‘I won’t bite,’ Crowley said, though he sounded rather odd. Tense.

‘It’s not too far to the village. Maybe we can get you a horse of your own.’

The demon hummed and Aziraphale reached around him again, determined this time. He took hold of the reins, gave them a tug and nudged the mare into movement.

The ride was quiet. They were high enough to be able to see every inch of the valley beneath; beyond the village lay plains of golden wheat, catching the last glimmers of light, swaying and basking in the beauty of the sunset. Farther off, almost at the horizon, trees sprouted into thick forestry. The lush, green kind Eden had grown once upon a time. If all went well, they’d be at the edge of the woods by midnight, and then Aziraphale might stop by a creek and indulge his body in some more sleep. He hoped Crowley wouldn’t mind.

‘How fast does this thing go?’ the demon asked, shifting uncomfortably. He fisted tufts of the silver mane, trying to stay upright.

‘I could try for a gallop, but I’m unsure whether you’d manage not to fall off.’

‘I’ll manage.’

He didn’t.

It was well into the evening when a begrudged Princess rode into the village on a slow gait, with her Knight in Shining Armour leading the mare on foot. This did fit the storybook image somewhat. Aziraphale was mostly just glad his friend hadn’t retreated into a sullen snake-form and scared the mare off again.

‘You’ve come back!’ a villager exclaimed upon seeing them – a scrawny boy carrying firewood. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be dead?’

‘Thomas!’ his mother chastised him on instinct, then turned around and adopted an equally shocked expression. ‘Oh my. You aren’t dead!’

‘Hello,’ said the Knight with a pleased grin. ‘The dragon won’t be bothering you any more.’

‘Lindworm,’ said Crowley.

The boy scurried off leaving the firewood behind, and soon the villagers had gathered around their newcomers. They crowded near, _oooing_ and _ahing_ at the fair Princess, the scorched armour on the dapper Knight, and a talon dangling from a leather string which a certain demon had miracled up for dramatics. The claw of a Mighty Beast whose body had fallen into a crevice in the mountains and probably wouldn’t ever be found, so don’t go looking. It was all rather impressive.

‘Where doth thee come from?’ the boy’s mother, Beatrice, asked. She marvelled at the golden thread woven into the skirt.

‘Across the sea. You wouldn’t know of it.’

‘You were gone for so long,’ remarked her husband Edward. He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. ‘Thought thee dead by the hands of that Lindworm.’

‘Dragon,’ Beatrice corrected him.

‘Lindworm,’ Crowley glared.

‘It did nearly kill me,’ Aziraphale said, and the crowd gasped, ‘but this fair Lady came to my aid and nursed me back to health! I’d be dead if it weren’t for her.’ The angel nudged the Princess, who nearly fell off the horse again.

‘It’s quite the other way around,’ he bit out, knuckles turning white around the silver mane. ‘I’d – ugh – you’re my _savour,_’ he said with an exaggerated batting of the eyes, in a poor attempt at swooning.

‘Oh my,’ Beatrice giggled, ‘how dreamy! I must offer thee food, for your travels – and a bed for the night, you must both be so tired...’

‘It’s fine,’ Crowley said.

‘But a bite to eat...’ sighed Aziraphale.

‘We really don’t have time.’

The Knight stopped to sniff the air. There was still sickness in it, an Evil aura emitted from the poisoned water, but it wasn’t as strong as last he’d been here. He had been looking forward to dealing out some more miracles to these lovely people, but perhaps things had already taken a turn for the better.

‘We must get back to Camelot,’ Aziraphale said, ‘Do you have another horse I could buy? I think I still have some gold on me...’

‘We should offer them one for free,’ a blonde girl said.

‘Shut it!’ A man slapped her arm, shoving his way through the crowd. ‘Don’t listen to the womenfolk, my Good Fellow – though we are grateful to be rid of the dragon, a coin or two would help even more. Thou’st sure to be receiving many more upon thy safe return, isn’t that right?’

‘Don’t be so brash!’ Beatrice said.

‘Reel thine wife in, Edward.’

‘We don’t need another horse,’ Crowley said coldly, glaring daggers at this new man. He was clad in a leather apron and garb that would suggest he was a blacksmith, possibly of good wealth. While most of the other villagers were skin and bone, his stomach swelled ever so slightly.

‘Now there’s no need to be rude,’ Aziraphale said, trying to project some authority into the evening. ‘If the Princess doesn’t wish for a horse, she’ll have mine and I’ll walk.’

‘You must still be tired,’ Edward said, glancing to the blacksmith uneasily. Unsurprisingly, the man didn’t argue when it wasn’t one of the _womenfolk_ who uttered an opinion.

‘We’re fine. Better get going, lest I, erm, swoon out of this saddle. Better get to the castle so I can tell them of Lord Righteousness bravery,’ Crowley patted the Knight’s shoulder armour.

‘That’s not my name,’ Aziraphale tried, but it already seemed to have caught on.

‘We give thee our utmost gratitude, Lord Righteousness!’ Beatrice exclaimed.

‘Lord Righty! Lord Righty!’ her son started chanting, and despite being one of a very small number of youths present, the childish giddiness spread.

‘Lord Righty!’ The villagers sang, and Aziraphale’s ears burned all the way out into the wheat fields. When the cries finally died out in the distance, Crowley nearly laughed himself off the horse.

‘Shut up,’ the angel said weakly, and trudged on.

* * *

‘Really now.’

The black horse had trotted up to them as the second day rose, or perhaps even earlier – Aziraphale wouldn’t know as he’d been sleeping through most of the night. It was proving to be a hard habit to break. Addicting, almost. He’d have to break it as soon as possible.

‘We’ll never get to Camelot if you’re walking.’

‘You can’t even hang onto a horse if I’m holding you!’

Crowley placed both his hands on his hips. He stood next to the horses by a small creek they’d set up camp next to, hair cascading in vibrant curls that could’ve been sculpted into a renowned marble statue back in Rome. The condescending look probably wouldn't have made it onto the final product, but it was a fine likeness nevertheless.

‘I just need my own saddle,’ he claimed, raising his chin. The black horse sniffed curiously at his hands.

‘If you say so,’ said Aziraphale, still doubting. ‘Isn’t that the blacksmith’s horse?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I thought you didn’t want it.’

‘_I_ thought we had an image to uphold.’

Aziraphale looked at him, then at the horse now chewing on an apple, then at the demon again. ‘It was his children you relocated, wasn’t it?’

‘Might’ve been,’ Crowley grumbled, ‘What’s it to you?’

‘His wife had bruises. And even though he looked to have food, she’s malnourished. I sent her a miracle, but without it she’d be halfway to Heaven by now.’

‘Or Hell,’ Crowley said to be contrary.

‘Did he beat his children too?’

‘Why do you care?’ The demon spun around, looking at the trees as if they weren’t alone, as if someone might be listening. ‘Why do you- it’s not any of your business!’

‘I know you wouldn’t harm children,’ Aziraphale said and stepped closer, manoeuvring around the remnants of the fire they’d lit Yester-eve. ‘Is it so bad to admit you did something… well, something almost Good-’

Crowley moved over the ground at inhuman speed – in one moment he’d crossed the ten paces between them, shoving the angel back against the trunk of a tree and covering his mouth. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly concerned with being cornered – he was more worried about the shushing, and the frantically looking around.

‘Are there any demons here?’ he tried to ask against the palm. It came out as more of a muffled gibberish.

‘Shh,’ hissed Crowley, carefully examining their surroundings. Neither of them needed to breathe and both of them stopped doing so right away; all was still, the chattering of birds and slow munch of a deer farther downstream being the only sounds to break the silence. A squirrel scurried down the trunk of the tree to see what all the fuss was about.

‘I don’t think anyone’s listening,’ the Serpent said.

‘Then what was all that about?’ Aziraphale grumbled against the hand.

Crowley stepped back, swishing his hips back and forth so that the dress flared dramatically around him. ‘I couldn’t be sure,’ he grinned, ‘Always wondered how closely Hell kept tabs on me. Thought they didn’t care, but I couldn’t be sure… And they don’t. They can’t be – must have other things to do, I suppose.’

‘Okay,’ said Aziraphale, still confused.

‘They told me to take children – they didn’t specify who, or that they had to come from happy families. I- I’ll make it up, of course- and the bastards are going to cause quite the mischief in their new homes-’

‘Of course,’ Aziraphale said.

‘So I’m still evil, you see. Still a demon – what you see is what you get. My point is- my point is, no one’s going to care if we work together. Don’t you see? It’ll be much more efficient!’ Crowley spread his arms wide like he’d just invented the wheel, despite the fact that they’d already agreed on the Arrangement.

‘You placed them in good families,’ Aziraphale said, overwhelmed with love again. ‘Where they won’t be beaten.’

‘I did no such thing. I wrecked havoc.’

‘For a good cause.’

‘Are you ever going to shut up about that?’ Crowley sighed. He walked over to the stream again where the horses were now drinking greedily, and stepped into the shallow water. He kicked up splashes hither and dither, sulking. They ought to ride on before the sun rose too highly in the sky, but Aziraphale found that he didn’t want to leave.

‘Angel, come look at this!’

He hurried over, worrying again. ‘What is it? Are you al-’

Crowley rose from where he’d been crouching and swiftly threw buckets-worth of water over the angel with the help of his skirts. It seeped icily through Aziraphale’s underskirt and breeches, covering every inch of his skin in a freezing, wet film.

‘I hate you.’

‘Nah,’ said Crowley, grinning, ‘I don’t think you do.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and happy belated halloween! I've been really itching to put up this chapter :) Really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> By the way, I've taken some inspiration from birds and how they care for their wings - if you're not familiar with molting, it's basically a change of feathers where old ones fall off and new ones grow in. Just a bit of background information. Now, back to the story!

Camelot rose in grandeur on its hill, all gleaming spires and towering… towers. They reached it two days later on a rainy afternoon. As a compromise on the storybook image, they rode side by side and Crowley handed over his reins to Aziraphale to make it look like the Knight was still guiding his Princess to safety.

‘I despise this,’ the demon said sourly. His hair refused to bow down to the rain even though the rest of him was drenched and clinging onto his thin frame.

‘I know. At least there’s no thunder.’

‘That’s not what I was referring to.’

They entered through the main gates, the guards quickly closing them once they were through.

‘It’s just a first impression,’ Aziraphale said, watching an errand boy run inside the castle with news of their return. ‘As soon as it’s over you can do whatever you want.’

‘Really?’ said Crowley in a tone of voice that didn’t bode well for anyone.

‘Well, not anything-’

‘No, you said _whatever I want._ I did save your stupid corporation, so I think you owe me this.’

‘Oh no,’ Aziraphale mumbled as they stopped at the steps leading up to the grand entrance. He should perhaps have been more worried, considering he’d gotten a demon into the High Court of Camelot. He wasn’t though, as this particular demon’s last deed was to relocate abused children to safe homes. It might count as a blessing, come to think of it.

The doors to Camelot opened to reveal Sir Lancelot, Lord Gilbert and King Arthur. They remained under the arched opening, shielded from the rain, but servants ran past them to greet the newcomers and take their horses in.

‘Sir Aziraphale,’ King Arthur grinned. ‘I take it your mission was a success?’

The servants led the horses away and the Knight helped the Princess up the stairs. Arthur watched this with baffled glee.

‘The lindworm won’t be bothering anyone again.’

‘I thought it was a dragon?’ Lord Gilbert said, eyeing the lady’s hand which still rested in the angel’s.

‘Not quite, as it turned out.’

‘What a fine Lady you have brought back to us,’ Arthur said, ‘May I ask thine name?’

‘Ashtoreth, Princess of Hummelmora,’ Crowley offered his hand to the King to have it kissed. A ring had been miracled onto his finger, embossed with a royal sigil; a serpent circling a sword, biting its own tail.

‘I admit I have not heard of thine kingdom, but I welcome you into my halls anyway. The servants shall prepare chambers for thee. There will be a seat at mine table in thy name this night.’

‘How kind of you.’

Lord Gilbert cleared his throat, fiddling with his belt. ‘How did thine paths cross, then?’

‘They are both wet!’ Arthur proclaimed, ‘They must be allowed to dry and rest after their travels. Questions can wait ‘til after, is that not right?’

‘I suppose,’ Gilbert huffed. ‘Though I must discuss a certain matter with Sir Aziraphale before...’

‘Of course,’ said Aziraphale, and threw a pointed look at Crowley that read something like _this is your time to shine._ Princess Ashtoreth smiled daintily, stepping forward to brush a speck of dirt from her Knight’s shining armour.

‘I suppose I’ll see thee at supper as well, then?’

‘If my Lady so wishes.’

Crowley’s hand lingered for a moment too long, and he smiled before allowing himself to be escorted away by a haggle of chambermaids. Aziraphale watched him go with something akin to fondness. It was all part of the act, he told himself.

‘Excuse me,’ said Sir Lancelot and took his leave; King Arthur followed soon after, to check on his Queen.

‘What was it you wished to discuss?’ the Knight asked, hoping the charade would have gotten the message across. Lord Gilbert huffed, looking utterly lost, and a little angry.

‘It can wait,’ he said.

Aziraphale beamed. ‘If you say so,’ he chirped, and walked off towards the armoury. It was time to get the blasted metal off him, and perhaps indulge in a warm bath before dinner was served. In the kitchens, the Cook found himself miraculously in possession of several fine oxen backs, and began to prepare for a feast.

* * *

The Hall was lit by candle.

While King Arthur and his trusted Knights sat around a round table when they discussed the future of their kingdom, such a table wouldn’t be practical to eat at. There were enough nobles dining in the Hall that a circular surface set for all of them couldn’t ever fit within four walls. Instead there was a long table at the end of the room, overlooking two others stood parallel to each other. While Arthur always sat on a throne next to Guinevere, the person dining at his left always varied. Though some lesser nobles were afraid to sit at the long table, the Knights often went back and forth between seats. They were all equals in here, after all. No place in the Hall was lesser, or better for that matter – at least that was the official code of conduct.

When a foreign sovereign came to visit, however, they almost always sat next to the King. Some chose to diverge from that unspoken rule after their first night, eager to know what it was like not the be at the Head, while some preferred to think themselves above everyone else and stayed next to Arthur.

When Princess Ashtoreth ate for the first time in the Hall, she chose something entirely different. Neither did she sit near the kitchens, where the King’s second cousin once removed was picking at her food; nor did she dine next to Guinevere, as Queens and Princesses visiting often did. Instead she was sitting near one end of the Head table, next to Sir Percival, scanning the crowds for a familiar face.

‘Aziraphale,’ Sir Lancelot bellowed when the angel entered the Hall fashionably late. ‘Come hither – we long to hear of your conquests!’

Crowley’s eyes found their target, now a softer, more human gold. _If you don’t sit next to me,_ they said, _I’m going to publicly humiliate you until you discorporate out of embarrassment._ Sir Percival did have a tendency to tell stories both incredibly long and impossibly dull. Aziraphale shot Lancelot a sheepish look, gesturing to their guest of honour. It wouldn’t do not to make sure the Princess was all right, after all.

‘Sir Aziraphale,’ Crowley exclaimed, then yanked the angel down into the seat next to him, hissing, ‘You better talk to me, this idiot won’t shut up about blessed _strawberries._’

‘Oh my. Well – did you try the food?’

‘Mm hm, very nice, though a bit overcooked if you ask me. Could do with some salt as well.’

‘I’ll let Herbert know,’ Aziraphale said, beginning to pile his plate high with potatoes.

‘You’re friends with the cook,’ Crowley said. ‘Isn’t that beneath your position?’

‘Why, nothing’s beneath me! I’m acquainted with everyone in the palace, I’ll have you know. They’re lovely people. Most of them, anyway – I’m working on the other half.’

‘Angels,’ muttered the Princess as sir Percival turned to accost the lady on is right about the ripeness of strawberries.

‘I’m taking that as a compliment.’

‘You would.’

‘Good evening,’ Lord Gilbert said. Aziraphale jumped in his seat. The man had appeared out of nowhere, standing formally with an arm around his sister, who looked more than a little flustered. ‘This is the Lady Gilbert.’

‘Yes, I believe we’ve met before.’

‘We have,’ Lady Gilbert confirmed with a long-suffering sigh.

‘Can’t hurt to introduce oneself again, to jog the memory,’ Lord Gilbert said pointedly. Aziraphale tried his very hardest to seem incompetent.

‘She does look to be a lovely Lady,’ Crowley drawled. ‘Was that all?’

‘Er-’ Gilbert cleared his throat, rocking a bit as if to placate himself, ‘I did actually mean to ask-’

‘Bit dry this meat, isn’t it?’ Ashtoreth cut him off, gesturing with a fork. ‘Thought it’d be better, to be honest.’

Gilbert huffed, fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t a very patient man.

‘As I was saying-’

‘And the side dishes, gosh. Not good at all.’ Crowley turned to the Lady Gilbert, ‘Someone should tell the cook.’

‘Oh,’ she said, relieved at an opening for escape, ‘I can do that for you.’

‘Evelyn!’ Lord Gilbert cried as his sister all but ran towards the kitchens, ‘Come back here!’

‘Was there anything else?’ Aziraphale asked between bites. He tried to look innocent, and not at all like he was plotting to never talk to the Lord again. Gilbert huffed, and clenched his fists, a vein popping on his forehead.

‘No,’ he bit out, ‘I suppose there wasn’t.’

‘Well, then. Have a lovely evening.’

Lord Gilbert stomped off in an unknown direction, disappearing into the crowd of diners. Aziraphale breathed out a sigh of relief.

‘That went rather well, considering how insistent he’s being.’

‘Another name to add to my report,’ Crowley shrugged, and pushed the rest of his meat onto the angel’s plate. He took a swing of wine, straightened out the creases in his dress, and tried very hard not to slump on the bench.

‘I fear you might be right. Though there is redemption to be found for everyone, of course.’

‘Eh,’ said Crowley, and drank more wine.

* * *

‘I’m afraid sir Lancelot may be upset with me,’ Aziraphale said two days later. He’d sat next to Princess Ashtoreth each evening to dissuade Lord Gilbert’s insistent advances and thus hadn’t had time to catch up with his Knightly friends. Today was the second time Lancelot had stood him up for their daily sparring. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

‘Maybe he’s got the flu,’ said Crowley. He sat on a stone wall overlooking the courtyard, watching Sir Gwaine duel with Sir Elyan.

‘Don’t say such things!’ the angel exclaimed and sent a hasty miracle Lancelot’s way. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

‘Maybe he pulled a muscle then?’

‘He’s avoiding me,’ Aziraphale said anxiously, ‘I can feel it. Oh, I must sit with him tonight – he’ll think I’m abandoning our friendship!’

‘You’re supposed to be lovestruck,’ Crowley reminded him, ‘Too infatuated with me to function.’

‘Yes, but Lancelot has always been so kind to me. And he really does care for me, I can feel it. It really won’t do for me to- to discard him.’

‘Maybe once our honeymoon phase fades away, you’ll have time to hang around other people than me,’ the demon suggested, swinging his legs. Aziraphale thought about that.

‘We aren’t even married yet,’ he pointed out. Honeymooning would last at least until a week after a binding ceremony and that seemed ever so far away…

A light went off in his head. ‘Oh! Princess Ashtoreth-’ he began loudly, and Crowley swiftly jumped down to hush him.

‘You can’t propose _now,_ we’re supposed to barely know each other! As much as I am for a scandal, I can’t bear to listen to you fret over your tarnished reputation for as long as we stay here.’

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said uneasily. He hadn’t even thought about that. ‘How long should we, erm, court then?’

‘Considering we’ve barely even begun yet, I don’t know- a month? Isn’t that what the humans do?’

‘A month?’ squeaked the angel, ‘But Lord Gilbert might-’

‘Then we make it clear what our intent is,’ Crowley said, strode over to the Knight, and kissed his cheek. ‘There. I’ll see you at supper.’

Aziraphale blushed furiously, watching the Princess go. The place those soft lips had touched his cheek burned as if he’d been branded. It took him a few moments to realise that Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan had stopped fighting, and were now grinning at him.

‘Oh, shush,’ he said, turning around. His head felt airy and he found himself forgetting all about Sir Lancelot. Courting. Right. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

* * *

Princess Ashtoreth had spread tales of the rescue far and wide. She’d also lamented about the lack of respectable suitors back in her land, and the uprising she’d barely escaped that meant going back would surely get her killed, so King Arthur had made the guest chambers more or less permanently hers until she found somewhere to settle. He suspected that wouldn’t take too long, considering her daily strolls with Sir Aziraphale.

‘I convinced Arthur no one would come looking for me,’ Crowley said on one such stroll. They were walking down the hedges of a sparse garden Guinevere had requested be planted near the courtyard. The soil was rough and nothing much would grow in it, but there were a few flowers here and there and that made it pleasant enough. ‘That Hummelmora thinks me dead on account of the lindworm. It’s far away anyhow, so they probably won’t notice if I settle here.’

‘How considerate of you,’ said Aziraphale, and nodded to Sir Percival as he passed them.

‘I also told him I’ll be needing more gowns, and gold, and that I still know a strong battalion that’s loyal to me should he refuse.’

‘Was that really necessary?’

‘Mm,’ said Crowley, and squinted against the sun. ‘Had to give him an ultimatum. One doesn’t let a foreign princess stay in one’s castle if the princess doesn’t have any status back in her own country any longer.’

‘I suppose,’ said the angel and made a detour down a path that would lead them somewhere else. ‘Still, I do hope you weren’t too rude about it.’

‘Don’t concern yourself with it,’ said Ashtoreth and took a regal pose. Her hand fell on Aziraphale’s arm as they left the castle-grounds and entered the higher districts of Camelot. A market had set up as it did each Sunday, showcasing fine fabrics and pottery, food, animals, cutlery and blank parchments next to quills.

‘I’ll be needing one of those,’ the Princess said, and stopped to examine some ink. The merchant was wide eyed and nervous, clearly in the know about who was stood in front of him.

‘I have several different colours, my Lady,’ he said timidly. ‘What would suit best?’

‘I’m thinking red,’ Crowley said, scouring the stall’s contents. ‘Black will do otherwise.’

‘And a feather to go with it, perhaps?’ the merchant said, glancing to his small collection.

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘You need something to write with,’ Aziraphale suggested in case Crowley did not know how quills worked. He put a generous amount of silvers on the table.

‘You needn’t do that,’ said the demon. He didn’t stop the transaction, though, and picked up his desired ink right away.

‘Nonsense,’ said the Knight. A suitor should buy their beloved gifts, shouldn’t they? ‘Choose a feather too, and you’ll be all set.’

‘Already have several. It’s molting season, after all.’

‘My Lady owns her own birds,’ the merchant said, counting the silvers with a large smile.

‘Meh,’ said Crowley, and steered the angel away before more small-talk could ensue.

‘Molting season?’ Aziraphale asked as they strolled down the market. Lord Gilbert was both luckily and unluckily nowhere in sight. It might do the man good to see Sir Aziraphale’s devotion to Princess Ashtoreth, but his company always ended in disaster and the day had been so nice thus far.

‘Yeah,’ said Crowley and threw the angel an odd look. ‘Doesn’t your lot get them at the same time as us?’

‘I don’t use my wings often nowadays. Have them tucked away.’

‘Yeah, but… you still molt, don’t you? And preen?’

‘I suppose I molt, but I don’t see how preening’s necessary when I don’t use them,’ Aziraphale shrugged, looking out over the crowd. He thought he’d spotted Lancelot, but whoever it had been was lost the moment after. There were too many people running about, too many with the same mop of brown hair weaving in and out of the crowd like three mugs shuffled about by a gambler, only one of which contained what you were looking for.

‘What?’ spluttered Crowley, ‘You- don’t tell me you don’t preen _at all._’

The angel turned back to his companion, who’d gone slack jawed with disgust.

‘I don’t use them,’ Aziraphale said sheepishly. ‘Besides, the feathers will fall off on their own, and as long as they’re tucked away it doesn’t itch too badly.’

‘I can’t believe you. Ugh. Yuck.’ Crowley pulled a face. ‘Let’s never discuss this again.’

‘If you say so,’ the angel said, flustered. Perhaps he ought to take out his wings later tonight, in the confines of his chamber, and give them a look over.

They didn’t see Lord Gilbert at the market, or on the stroll back to the castle, but many others observed them. Princess Ashtoreth was ripe gossip. Anything she did was bound to get around the town in no time. Aziraphale made a show of bidding his farewell at her door as the chambermaids watched, giggling. He kissed her cheek as she had his Thursday morning, and revered in the answering blush it got. For the Arrangement, he reminded himself. He did it for the Arrangement, nothing else.

* * *

Ten days after Princess Ashtoreth was granted residence in Camelot and thus its protection, said princess snuck out her window and climbed down the stone walls, much like an intruder might. An intruder would probably fall right away though, as the stone was incredibly smooth and slippery with light rain. Being a demon had its perks, one of those being that one could stick to practically anything. All that was needed was a wee bit of imagination and gravity would simply shrug and turn a blind eye. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

He moved swiftly down the wall, careful not to be spotted by the guards that patrolled outside the castle at all times. One floor down, three feet to the left. It wasn’t far until he’d reached the desired window.

When Crowley knocked on the glass, Aziraphale turned in his reading chair, and shrieked.

‘For God’s sake, you cannot _do_ that!’ the angel wheezed as he opened the window. He had just sat down to study his latest assignments from Heaven, and it was all terribly important business that he’d rather deal with on his own. Alone.

Crowley heaved himself over the windowpane, yanking the last of his skirts inside after he landed. ‘Why not?’

‘Because- because, I wasn’t expecting it.’

‘Really?’ Crowley said, and his eyebrows shot up. ‘I couldn’t tell.’

‘What do you want?’ Aziraphale sighed. It wasn’t quite summer yet and the night air was cold, so he shut the window, though he had all the intentions of making the demon leave as soon as possible. He strongly suspected the parchments would burst into flames if they detected nearby Hellish activity, and then he’d have to request new ones and come up with a whole story as to why the papers had disappeared, and that sounded exhausting and he was already too tired to deal with anything else.

Heaven had transferred him to another department and another boss. Gabriel wanted fast results and a face-to-face rapport, to top it all of. Aziraphale had five years until then, but it wasn’t nearly enough for everything he was supposed to get done in that time, and Gabriel’s reputation was impeccable. As far as anyone was concerned, he was the poster-image of perfection. Heaven’s own King Arthur. Aziraphale was an enuk in that comparison.

Crowley looked a little lost. ‘Uh. Just wanted to check in. See how things are going on your end, I mean. With the Arrangement.’

‘Well,’ the angel said, ‘I blessed the stable boy. Poor thing caught the flu, you know how that goes. And there was a woman earlier-’

‘I didn’t- I _meant,_ with the courting. I’ve promised to stay out of your way, remember? You don’t mention your work, I don’t mention mine and we can go on oblivious to each other so our respective head offices won’t tell us to thwart each other.’

‘Right,’ said Aziraphale. ‘So if they check up, we won’t be at fault.’

He didn’t feel quite as much guilt for looking the other way any more – it wasn’t lying if you didn’t know, right? It wasn’t lying if no one asked for the truth. Besides, it wasn’t as if Camelot’s inhabitants had all died of terrible deceases or lost all their food since a demon came to live in their midst. Whatever Crowley was doing, it couldn’t be big enough to be worth thwarting at all.

Not yet, anyway.

‘So?’ the Serpent stared intently, ‘Are people buying it? Are we going too fast, or too slow?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Aziraphale, suddenly defensive, ‘Can’t you find that out yourself?’

‘You have friends all over the castle, remember? I thought they might’ve said something.’

‘They’re curious, that’s all. Nothing out of the ordinary – look, we can talk about this tomorrow. You’ll probably find out at the Queen’s feast, anyhow, and I have things to do-’

Crowley looked almost hurt. He crossed his arms stubbornly, and gave a rare blink.

‘Something’s wrong, I can smell it in the air. You’re hiding something.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’

Aziraphale fiddled with his sleeves. Then he faced his friend. ‘I have work to do.’

‘That’s all?’ said Crowley.

‘Yes. Heavenly paperwork, it’s all very important.’

‘Well,’ he huffed, relaxing into his usual boneless stance. He even had the ghost of a smile on his face. ‘Sounds to me like you could use some wine.’

It wouldn’t do to let one’s guard down with a sneaky demon and Heaven’s greatest plans for humanity in the same room. Aziraphale hadn’t been so desperate for a drink in years, though. And he did have a casket procured in France, long ago, that really ought to be drunk soon.

They settled in front of the fireplace in the room next to the study. Sir Aziraphale’s quarters were miraculously large, yet every time anyone visited, they quickly forgot exactly to what extent. This meant that there were no fights over it, nor claims made by those of higher status. If anyone had known how comfortably huge they were, a certain angel would’ve found himself discorporated long ago with a forged will naming his killer as the sole heir.

‘’sss not like I’d snoop through them,’ Crowley slurred. He was drinking from the King’s cup again.

‘You’re a demon, darling,’ Aziraphale said, ‘You’re meant to snoop.’

‘Darling,’ said the Serpent blankly. He drank. ‘Yeah, well, we had an agreeing, an… uh… we called it something, I don’t remember.’

‘We did, and we do, but you’re the type to… you know. Lie, and snoop.’

Crowley gasped dramatically, ‘I _wouldn’t!_’

‘You _would._’

He thought it over, eyes blown wide as he considered that. ‘No,’ he settled on after awhile, ‘I don’t think I would. Not to you. Have we already had this conversation? It feels like we’ve already had this conversation.’

‘I’m too drunk to remember,’ Aziraphale lamented and rubbed his forehead.

‘Anyway… I’m not gonna snoop.’

‘Thank you,’ the Principality beamed. ‘Oh- oh, do you get mail? From Hell? How does that work?’

‘Sort of just… arrives. Pops up like that – wham-’ Crowley gestured sharply- ‘just poofs into existence right there in your porridge! Can’t eat the bloody thing after, dirt and maggots and stuff all over it.’

Aziraphale pulled a face. Perhaps working for a picture perfect Archangel wouldn’t be so bad after all, considering the alternative.

‘How d’you send it back, then?’ he asked thoughtfully. ‘D’you… d’you push it back into the porridge?’

‘Now that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’

The angel giggled. He was beginning to feel rather silly. The wine had been an excellent idea, numbing his worries just enough that the glaring golden cup didn’t even bother him all that much. Arthur could drink from others, couldn’t he?

‘Even- even stupider than _will you marry me?_'

‘Ugh, you’re right – that one’s worse,’ Crowley said with a wistful smile. ‘Still can’t believe you did that. And to think you were sssober at the time!’

‘It did solve a lot of problems, though,’ Aziraphale waved away the jab, fussing over a loose thread in his trousers. ‘Or it will, once Lord Gilbert accepts defeat.’

‘Bloody persistent wanker,’ said Crowley.

‘Here now, that’s not very nice.’

‘_I’m_ not very nice. And, ‘sides, neither’s marrying off your sister to some Knight she doesn’t even like.’

Aziraphale giggled again, because it was ridiculous and also true. The last bit, that was to say. If Crowley really was his best friend, he must be at least a little nice deep down whether he liked it or not.

Aziraphale didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he asked, ‘So how does one send mail back to Hell?’

‘Beatsss me,’ the Serpent said, dragging out the s like he always did whilst drunk. ‘I write my answer and once the deadline comes, whether I’m done or not- whole thing disappears! Middle of a sentence sometimes. Then you have to explain why your paperwork came in all unfinished and that’s a whole ‘nother nightmare. Try arguing with Dagon, they’re like a brick wall. ‘s why I gotta get a feather soon – should’ve bought one at the market, can’t bear to be late with my rapport.’

The angel stopped in the middle of topping up his cup. ‘I did offer to buy you one,’ he said with a pointed look. ‘Didn’t you say you were gonna… gonna use your molt- fallen feathers, uh… I’m sure you did.’

‘Too big,’ Crowley said. ‘Once they fall off they’re always bloody huge and my handwriting gets all sloppy. The smaller ones only fall off if they’re damaged, even in molting. Stupid, really.’

‘Didn’t think you’d care about lettering.’

‘Shut up.’

Aziraphale tried to picture any demon sitting down to practise their letters as the noble children did, but found he couldn’t. It required a lot of discipline and patience and, well, that was more Heaven’s way of doing things. Perhaps demons practised it before they Fell. Was there such a thing as letters back then? No one really remembered much about Before, if there even was such a thing, and didn’t humans come up with writing in the first place? But God made the humans, so…

‘Why don’t you just… pick out a smaller feather. Middle sized,’ he suggested.

‘Pick out a feather?’ Crowley’s eyes bulged, ‘I can’t do that!’

‘Why not? Doesn’t hurt _that_ bad.’

‘But- but the wings’ll be ruined! I can’t- The whole pattern, the, the _aesthetics-_’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you never use them!’ Aziraphale said and stood on swaying legs. He was light-headed and giddy and annoyed at his friend who kept making such silly excuses for himself. The cup and bottle of wine was set aside on a nearby table, and the angel stumbled into the centre of the room, miraculously without falling on his arse. Wall to wall the space was twelve or thirteen steps wide, so a bit on the short side, but it would do for now.

‘What’re you…?’ Crowley slurred, then a bright light began to glow and his chin dropped. ‘What the fu-’

‘Sorry,’ Aziraphale excused himself and the light dimmed, ‘Sometimes that happens. Grace is a tricky thing.’

His wings finished unfolding with a loud ruffle, the tips folding in on themselves where they brushed against the bookshelves lining the walls. He worked his back and earned several satisfying pops, and decided he should stretch his wings more often. Keeping them contained and out of sight for such long amounts of time was awfully constricting.

‘Oh,’ he said as a final sinew popped back into the right spot, ‘you’re right, I should probably preen. It’ll make an excuse to pull them out regularly.’

‘Okay,’ said the demon, following the curve of feathers with wide eyes. ‘Why are you… you’re doing it now?’

‘Just a quick one since you’re being so ridiculous.’ Aziraphale stretched his right wing wide, flexing the feather and brushing through them with his hands. There were a few spots where the molting had already begun and a pile of large feathers lay on the floor. Just like demon had said, the middle sized and small feathers only seemed to fall of if they were faulty, and that wouldn’t do to write with.

‘Here we go,’ the angel murmured as he came upon a perfectly healthy one growing near his shoulder. Most of the others were either sticking out at odd ends or had a sheen of grease covering them as a result of not being cleaned and used. One was even developing something of a mould.

But not this feather. It was nearing fifteen inches, perfectly fluffy and pearly white. Aziraphale beamed at the little thing, and plucked it.

‘What the Heaven?’ Crowley burst out of his daze. He launched himself to his feet, staring at the miniscule hole where the feather once sat like it was a gaping wound.

‘You’re being overly dramatic, dear,’ the angel rolled his eyes. It hadn’t even stung that much, and the molting was making itself known by an itching that made the small bout of pain feel like relief. There were dozens more that ought to be plucked. They were like hundreds of tiny splinters and, gosh, this was why he never took his wings out, this was _exactly_ why.

‘It _itches,_’ Aziraphale said miserably and held out the middle sized feather for Crowley to take. The demon stared some more, cleared his throat and stepped up to do so. He held it like one would a newborn.

‘Uh,’ he said, and stared some more. ‘I don’t have any pockets.’

The principality miracled the feather back to Princess Ashtoreth’s quarters without a second thought, trying to reach an itch on the far back of his left wing.

‘I hate this,’ he complained, reached some more, and fell into a drunken mess of feathers and limbs. He wasn’t feeling quite so giddy any more. With his face hidden by white fluff, he allowed himself one, angry tear before deciding he wouldn’t be sad, even while drunk, in the company of a demon.

‘Who’s being dramatic now?’ Crowley sighed. His hands fumbled about the pile until they reached something vaguely resembling a hand, and pulled. Aziraphale allowed himself to be helped into a sitting position, wings slumping all over the floor. He started thinking about Gabriel the Archangel, and Heavenly duties, and punishments that might come from helping a demon settle in Camelot.

‘You need to do this more often, that’s all,’ Crowley sighed again. He stepped over as much of the left wing as possible and plopped down somewhere behind it, out of sight. ‘You might have rashes underneath for all we know.’

‘I don’t have rashes,’ Aziraphale said in the most indignant voice he could muster. Then something scratched at an area that was just outside of his own reach, and he damn near moaned.

‘Sit still,’ Crowley said and Aziraphale tried desperately to keep his wings from flapping about.

‘Little to the left,’ he said, ‘yes, there- oh, oh thank you! Oh, could you do the spot right next to it-’

‘Fine, fine, just shut up and let me work. I’ve never seen wings in worse shape, bloody Heaven, disgusting’s what it is.’

He didn’t argue with that because demons had the most claw-like nails, didn’t they, the kind that were perfect for scratching ‘til one’s skin almost bled and even the most violent of itches called quits. And if this was part of the Arrangements, Aziraphale would do a dozen temptations for Crowley, because this was absolutely amazing.

‘I must’ve plucked half your feathers out by now,’ the Serpent said a while after. ‘Not sure if it would throw off your balance if you tried to fly.’

‘I’m sure I won’t need them for that,’ the angel said, finding himself dozing off while the morning sun came through the windows. Crowley had moved onto the other wing, going through each section with the exact precision and patience Aziraphale had sworn he lacked.

‘I know we’re supposed to be hereditary enemies, but for somebody’s sake, preen once in a while will you? You’re not a worthy opponent in this state.’

‘But much more easy to thwart, I assume,’ said the angel and relaxed even further into the floor. It would be easy to discorporate him now, he thought. Another demon might’ve played millennia of scheming to get to this moment of trust, to push a blade of purest hell-fire into his back and execute him. Gone not just in body, but in soul, for good.

But not Crowley. He ran a hand softly through the remaining feathers, picking at the loose ones and smoothing out the others. It was almost caring, almost loving. It was loving, Aziraphale thought with a smile, and remembered the cave they’d found themselves in weeks ago and the emotion he’d picked up on, and yes, they was here too. That same feeling Sir Lancelot had held for him back when Sir Aziraphale was still his favourite sparring partner, still his best friend. That loss didn’t feel quite as bad any longer.

‘Oh yes,’ Crowley said with a smile in his voice. ‘This is my evil plan, to get your Holy Feathers back to Hell so we can study them and work out your weakness. Then we’ll overthrow Heaven and claim it for our master.’

‘I do hope that isn’t true.’

‘Oh, come on. Don’t think I have the balls to do it?’

Aziraphale frowned, ‘We’re immortal beings, we don’t have genitalia. Unless, well, unless you’ve made an effort-’

‘That’s- that’s not the _point._ Ugh. Forget it.’

He smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a no for the uprising, then?’

‘Not worth the trouble. What would we gain, harps and mediocre… harp music? You know what I mean.’

Aziraphale tried to find an argument against that for the principle of things. He couldn’t. He felt tired, and warm, and safe.

‘’m gonna sleep now.’

‘Yeah, I’m done here anyway, so. Might wanna put your wings away in case someone walks in on you like this.’

He pried his eyes open and was met by the sight of Crowley crouching over him with an odd look on his face, and if the angel had been sober he might’ve recognised it as fond. But then the demon cleared his throat and walked on towards the door, and his dress caught on several loose feathers, trailing behind him like a white train.

‘Wait- Crowley, wait. You can’t- you can’t walk out now, it’s too early! People will think you stayed over.’

‘I did.’

‘Not like that. I mean…’

The demon cocked his head, looking so innocent he could’ve fooled God herself he hadn’t Fallen. ‘I have no clue what you’re referring to. Could you explain it some more?’

‘The- uh… you know, the birds and the bees- it’s, it’s what the humans do-’ Aziraphale spluttered until he noticed the smile on his friend’s face. ‘Oh! You’re playing with me.’

‘Maybe.’ Crowley smirked. ‘Good night, angel. Cover your wings.’

‘Your reputation really will get tarnished,’ said angel protested, pushing himself up to at least a sitting position so he could show how much he meant it. ‘I haven’t proposed yet.’

‘I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, angel. I know what sort of thing spreads rumours and jealousy, it’s my job to know that. Besides, it’s not _my_ reputation you need to worry about.’

Aziraphale sat in a daze for several minutes after his friend left, trying to remember how to get rid of hangovers. It was beginning to get warmer now that Spring was slowly turning into Summer. The hazy morning sun was making it hard to focus on anything other than the mission of crawling into bed and sleeping one’s trouble’s away. Perhaps the King could reschedule the early Knight’s meeting, if Aziraphale could only remember how to perform miracles again…

When his clothes had been replaced by a suitable night-dress and he was properly curled up in the fluffiest of blankets, he gasped as he realised just whose reputation Crowley had meant.

‘That bastard!’ he said to the empty room.

His properly preened wings begged to differ. They didn’t itch any more, not even a little, and it was by a miracle Aziraphale had nothing to do with and that a demon was currently trying to make an excuse for in his own chambers. The pearly white feather still lay on Princess Ashtoreth’s bedside table. It would remain there for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - there were a few cheek kisses in this chapter, but I'm still interpreting Crowley and Aziraphale to more or less asexual, meaning wing preening is the next Big Step. I'm pretty sure I got the idea after reading another fic on here that focused on wings, though I'm not sure there was any preening involved... It was so good, but I can't remember the name! Ah! :(
> 
> Either way, the next chapter should be up by Sunday. See you then :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note if you're familiar with Arthurian legend! There's a mention of Mordred in this chapter that places him as Arthur's brother when he's supposed to be an illegitimate son. I changed it because Arthur in this story is very young (a la Bradley James), and there's no way he'd have a kid older than a toddler. Just thought I'd clear that up :)
> 
> (trigger warning in end notes)

‘It’s been a month now. Is that enough? Thirty four days, see, I’ve counted them.’

Aziraphale put on his best lovesick smile as they strolled past Sir Elyan. They’d just passed the gardens and were nearing the courtyard where sparring was in session underneath a cloudy, but undeniably bright sky. Today, the King would be in attendance, and each Knight was expected to participate. Even courting ones.

‘There’s already rumours we’re sleeping together,’ Crowley said breezily, ‘I don’t see how much more intimate we’d have to get before it’s appropriate for you to propose.’

The angel blushed as he recalled a remark from Sir Gwaine that morning. ‘You haven’t been fuelling those rumours, have you? Other than the time you left my chambers early in the morning.’

The demon smiled. They walked through a stone arch, entering the courtyard.

‘Guess you’ll find out.’

Princess Ashtoreth waited until the duel in session stopped and everyone looked their way before kissing Sir Aziraphale’s cheek. Then she gracefully made her way over to the stalls and sat to observe.

Sir Lancelot cleared his throat – they seemed to be sparring one on one today under Arthur’s watchful eyes. ‘Glad you could join us,’ he muttered, standing waiting for a partner. Aziraphale leapt at the opportunity.

‘Would you let me spar with you?’ he asked. This could be a chance at reconnecting for them.

‘I’d gladly see that,’ the King boomed next to a bored Guinevere. ‘Let the battle commence! Until one of you yields or can’t stand!’

‘Aye!’ the Knights shouted, thrusting their swords into the air. It hadn’t escaped any of them that there was a tension between two of their brethren, and watching the duo work it out in a fight was an exciting prospect. _He__ can’t be that mad at me, can he?_ Aziraphale thought. Lancelot was taking pose, waiting without the usual playful gleam in his eyes. _Oh my. He is._

Sparring wasn’t as fun as it could be, when both parts shouted light insults and jokes to the crowd’s cheer. It wasn’t refreshing or uplifting, trying to figure out what the other would do next, trying to outwit each other. It wasn’t a bonding experience, Aziraphale thought as his heart sunk and he side-stepped Lancelot again. If anything, they were drifting farther apart.

They ended up in a deadlock, swords crossed and faces inches apart. For a moment the fire returned in Lancelot, and there was a whiff of love again, but then his face fell and he dropped his sword.

‘I yield,’ he said.

‘But you can’t!’ the angel protested, ‘We’ve barely even begun.’

‘Lancelot,’ the King warned, but it sounded tired.

‘I yield,’ Sir Lancelot repeated, turned on his heel and walked brusquely out the courtyard. Aziraphale was so shocked that he couldn’t move – then he sprung into action, picked up his friend’s sword, and followed him. Once he reached the archway, Lancelot was long gone.

The angel could, technically, follow his aura, a familiar energy, but that felt like a breach of privacy and for what? The man clearly didn’t want to be followed, least of all by the Principality. He slumped for a moment, wondering whatever he’d done that warranted such a strong reaction. Then he walked back the way he came.

Princess Ashtoreth greeted him near the stalls. She presented a handkerchief and started dabbing Aziraphale’s face.

‘I don’t understand what I did,’ he said softly. Crowley tilted his chin up to better catch a drop of sweat running down the dirty chin.

‘Does he really mean that much to you?’ the demon asked.

‘Well, yes – he’s one of my closest friends!’ _He’s my best friend when you’re not around._ ‘And I was sure I could feel- I was sure he felt the same about me. I’m usually so good at sensing love, never met a human I couldn’t read, and now this! It doesn’t make sense.’

Crowley smiled. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘Know what?’ Aziraphale stared back blankly. ‘Oh- oh, you haven’t done anything to him, have you? Please, Crowley- if you’ve cursed him, I swear on my life I’ll-’

‘I haven’t bloody _cursed_ him,’ Crowley said and stopped the charade of doting. The handkerchief fell to the ground. ‘It’s not like there was any need for that in the first place.’

‘What,’ the angel breathed, trying not to look too alarmed with the King still in sight, ‘Did. You. Do.’

‘Don’t say it like that, it was _your_ idea!’ the demon huffed, ‘It’s not my fault you’re so oblivious!’

‘_Crowley,_’ Aziraphale warned, and something sharp and icy took hold of his heart – he should never have trusted, should never have thought a demon could be _kind_, could be his _friend-_

‘All I did,’ Crowley said darkly, stepping closer lest someone see the cold look on his face, ‘was pretending to be in love with you. It’s textbook jealousy, angel. That’s all.’

Then he turned and walked away, stiffly, just like Lancelot had.

Once the blood came back to his brain, Aziraphale thought about how he could’ve gotten it so wrong. All those afternoons sparring, all those conversation – how could he have missed it? Love was his speciality, so how could he not have known? He’d assumed- there wasn’t any indications, it wasn’t like Lancelot had made a move in the romantic fashion, but then again… Then again, the humans had misinterpreted that bible of theirs so badly. Men-shaped beings couldn’t love other men without going to Hell, they thought.

But love wasn’t evil in any of its forms, not pure love. Not the kind that radiated off Lancelot.

The same kind that came from Crowley.

Oh. Oh _no._

* * *

To say the situation wasn’t good would be an understatement. It would, in fact, trump both _The Great Flood was just a __bit of__ rain_ and _Lighting a candle in Alexandria’s library and leaving it unattended hadn’t caused that big a disaster. _This was, according to Aziraphale, nothing short of the end of the world.

No wonder Crowley had been so skittish back in the cave. No wonder he acted as if he’d burst into flames at any God-given minute, because that wasn’t the first time the angel had noticed the love, but it was by far the strongest it had ever been. And if Heaven found out- nay, if Hell did, if Hell found out about it Crowley would be tortured. Executed. That wouldn’t do.

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine a world without him. He’d rather do anything than to live in such a place; he’d even Fall if he had to.

An angel, Falling for a demon. That would be a first.

Lancelot was far from his thoughts now as he hurried back to his chambers, barely remembering to leave his sword in the armoury. He hurried through that too, earning several concerned looks from his fellow Knights.

‘Hey-’ Sir Percival started as Aziraphale tugged at his chest plate, feeling cornered and claustrophobic.

‘It’s fine,’ the angel snapped, and the metal recoiled, sliding off his body. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

He got a few more Looks before the last bracer came off, and he ran for the exit.

_Shit shit shit!_

His words from earlier rang through his head, mocking him with that false hope: _Love isn’t evil in any of its forms._ And yet, an angel and a _demon…_ No, no it was wrong, it had to be.

They’d been courting for more than a month now. Thirty four days, he’d counted them. It was bound to get back to Heaven somehow, it was bound to get back to Hell because Evil had eyes and ears everywhere and they’d been ever so careless. He’d let Crowley _preen his wings,_ for Heaven’s sake! If anyone knew, they were both screwed. An angel trusting a demon.

A demon Loving an angel.

Aziraphale reached his chambers, ushered the servants out, locked the door; and wept.

* * *

The coming days passed strangely in the castle, and everyone took note of it. The Cook’s pantry lacked the usual miraculously fresh food and encouraging comments from a passing Knight. The servants of Sir Aziraphale’s chambers were granted leave, and found themselves feeling quite sorry for it. In the dining Hall, Princess Ashtoreth ate for one night alone, constantly frowning and checking the door, then rose from her seat and wasn’t seen for the next couple of days either. Queen Guinevere sent a servant to check on their royal guest, and the servant came back pale and flustered and no one dared ask what the Princess had said.

Crowley tried to initiate contact a few times. Knocking, banging on the door, a window, asking what was wrong, claiming the angel was being ridiculous and that Sir Lancelot having a crush wasn’t all that bad, really, as humans all died within half a century anyway.

Aziraphale never answered.

Aziraphale wasn’t there.

He was, currently, trudging through the woods towards a fortress. It was of white marble, which ought to confuse passers-by, but otherwise unremarkable and small and overall gave the impression of being very special but trying not to seem that way. They might as well have left a sign out front saying _we’re certainly not an ethereal hub for angels working on Earth, so just carry on walking, nothing to see here._ Heaven was, on a whole, quite clueless about humans.

‘Halt,’ said an angel, picking at their nails. They were standing guard at the gate in a fashion that was meant to imitate royal guards but only stuck out as even more odd. Golden flecks of paint spread like stars across a dark forehead. ‘Who goes there?’

‘I’m Aziraphale, Principality. I have a meeting with the Archangel Gabriel.’

The angelic guard looked up with some interest. Aziraphale was quite sure he was still the only angel stationed permanently on Earth, which meant he was one of the only visitors the poor guard was ever bound to have. Except for curious humans, of course. Their eyebrows rose and a parchment appeared in their hands.

‘You’re not scheduled for another five years.’

‘I know,’ said Aziraphale, standing there in his most respectable evening-wear, nervous but determined. ‘There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with him that cannot wait, I’m afraid. Check with Gabriel, I’m sure he’s been expecting me. He’s aware of it.’

The angelic guard looked over their parchment again, considered it, then stepped aside. The gate behind them began to open.

‘You may pass.’

‘Thank you,’ said Aziraphale and walked on in a manner that made it obvious he was trying to convince himself to be brave, and failing.

Heaven’s fortress-slash-headquarters was logistically very strange. Behind tall, oak doors lay an interior that was mostly empty without any signs pointing where to go or windows showing the time of day. Here and there throughout the corridors were tapestries, a painting, and the Ten Commandments showcased on a pedestal. They were the only signs anyone occupied the building at all. That was, until one got to the office area.

After a long walk – long enough for Aziraphale to stop and contemplate turning around three times – the spotless, marble corridor opened up into a great Hall, larger than Arthur’s by far. It could have easily fit the whole of Camelot in it. Though a few spaces were sectioned off for privacy by a frosted, thin layer of mist that left only vague silhouettes visible to outsiders, the rest of the Hall remained open, vast and cold. It was too impersonal, too much distances between each desk angels sat working on, too much emptiness between the floor and high ceilings. Aziraphale would never say it out loud, but it made him uncomfortable.

He’d last been here two years past. By then word had gotten back about King Arthur’s famed round table, and a replica had been placed in the centre of the Hall. Arthur was one of their greater successes after all. Now, however, it had been replaced by more bare stone flooring and a chandelier hanging overhead. Another anonymous space that lacked warmth.

Gabriel stood at the farther end of the Hall, another distance long enough to contemplate turning around.

‘Oh. Aziraphale, right?’ he said, surprised. The Archangel frowned, displeased, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of an important mission. There wasn’t a desk in sight, though, and the only thing the he had been doing for the last half hour was stare off into nothingness. Perhaps he was thinking over a serious matter. They didn’t hand out Archangel titles for nothing, after all.

‘Hello,’ said the Principality weakly. He stopped a respectable distance away, afraid to disturb whatever it was that Gabriel had been doing further.

‘Well! You got my letter then, I assume? Worked through the miracles already?’

‘Not really,’ said Aziraphale as his boss closed the space between them, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. ‘I-’

‘It’s a good idea, meeting face to face. We never met before you were sent down to Eden, did we? No,’ Gabriel laughed like it was a ridiculous thought, ‘we were far too busy with our respective duties back then, weren’t we? Here, come to my office. Let’s have a chat.’

They strode only a few steps to the right, stopped, and waited for the thin mist to rise into looming walls. Aziraphale decided he very much preferred the vast openness to this small cubicle where there was only him and Gabriel, trapped with each other for who knew how long. He swallowed.

‘So,’ said Gabriel, a little too loudly, ‘you’re our main Earth agent. I’ve read up on you. Stationed for four millennia now.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not growing tired of it, are you?’ the Archangel asked, awfully casual and very serious at the same time. He smiled stiffly.

‘No, not at all! It’s good work, very important. I’m happy to carry it out.’

‘Yes, well. You’ve been slacking lately, haven’t you? Caught up in other matters.’ A parchment appeared out of thin air in a similar fashion to the guard’s, settling in Gabriel’s hands and unfolding into what looked to be a rather long list. ‘We send out other agents as well some times. Minor missions, a year here and there. They hear things.’

‘Of course they do. And what kind of things are those?’

‘Come now, Aziraphale. I think we both know why you’re here.’

They did. Aziraphale had known it must have gotten back to Heaven somehow – it was why he’d come. To not drag out the misery and be done with it. And, a part of him kept whispering, perhaps to seek redemption.

He had a choice. Pretend like nothing was wrong and lie to his superiors, to himself, or cut to the chase and confess his sins. He was an angel, it was his sole purpose of existing to thwart demons, to rapport what was either a coincidence, weakness or the start of something new; that one of them had begun to Love again. Wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t that a sign of betterment, of returning to the light, to God?

But Crowley didn’t Love God. He Loved Aziraphale.

Gabriel spoke first.

‘Your devotion to humanity is admirable. Michael might’ve called it a strength, but you’re in my department now, and I’ve been going through your rapports, and it’s very clear to me what’s happened. Sandalphon confirmed my suspicions mere hours ago – you remember him, right?’

‘Yes, I-’

‘He went past Camelot a few days ago. Saw you but didn’t say hi. Too busy, you see.’ Gabriel smiled again in a way that made it look like a thinly veiled threat. ‘But you’ve been rather busy too, haven’t you? Not with Heavenly duties, no, but with other… pleasures.’

Aziraphale’s figurative heart stopped beating. He wondered if it would hurt to Fall. He wondered if he might arrive in Hell before the word spread and Crowley was called in for execution, and perhaps if he was fast enough, he could stop it. It might just damn him to death as well, but that wasn’t much worse than Falling, so it didn’t matter.

Crowley mattered, more than Aziraphale wanted him to, and he couldn’t deny it any longer.

‘Yes,’ he said, and tried to stand straighter. He might as well spend his last moments in Heaven proudly, without any regrets. It didn’t matter now that he was doomed.

‘So you admit to it?’ Gabriel asked, surprised. He spread his hands with a chuckle. ‘Well, this is a first! I’m glad, though. We value honesty around here, as you’re well aware.’

‘No point in lying,’ the Principality said.

‘No,’ Gabriel turned serious again. ‘There isn’t.’

The air felt much heavier now. Was this the first step of Falling? Aziraphale felt like his legs were about to give out beneath him, gravity pulling him down, down, down into Damnation. Would he lose his wings, or would they blacken like Crowley’s? Would he change? Would it hurt?

‘I’m sure you didn’t know of it at first,’ Gabriel said. ‘We didn’t either, but then again, we’re not the ones stationed in Camelot. It’s harder to spot Evil from afar, though we always do, of course. Especially demonic plans.’

‘Plans?’ echoed Aziraphale.

‘Yes. The demon in question… Crowley, isn’t it? Yes, he’s been planning it for quite some time, received his orders long ago according to our sources.’

‘What?’

‘Quite a good distraction he made for you too, I must say,’ the Archangel mused.

‘He… he planned on it?’

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up comically high. ‘Of course he did! He’s a demon, it’s what they do!’

Oh. Maybe Crowley… maybe Crowley didn’t Love him at all. Maybe he could fake it, somehow, maybe he couldn’t Love, not like Aziraphale Loved him.

Oh _fuck._ He’d been _played._

Falling would be much kinder than this.

‘Aziraphale, Aziraphale,’ Gabriel tutted, stepped closer, and squeezed the other angel’s shoulder painfully hard. ‘It really was a dangerous oversight. You more than anyone should realize that with how much effort you’ve put into Arthur! Of course, all things come to an end, but we do still like to come out on top.’

‘Wh-what?’ Aziraphale managed to get out.

‘I won’t tolerate such a misstep in the future, you know. I know it’s early in our relationship still, but I felt I ought to lay out the ground rules. I work a little differently than Michael, you see. I expect better results.’

Gabriel kept smiling, stiffly, standing too close a moment longer before releasing his subordinate. He sighed.

‘You’ve been an excellent asset in the past. I’m sure you can make up for this, can’t you? Work a little harder the next couple of decades to even things out.’

‘I’m- I’m not sure I understand,’ said Aziraphale. He was still terrified, but the feeling was drowned out by a larger bout of confusion.

‘Don’t look so gloomy,’ the Archangel chuckled, ‘we all make mistakes, though to varying degrees of course. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. It’s too late to stop it.’

‘It?’

‘Mordred,’ said Gabriel. ‘Camlann. You know, the fall of Arthur.’

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale.

‘As I said, I expect better from you in the future, but it’s too late now. The best you can do is make up for it.’

‘Yes. Quite.’ Aziraphale forcefully cleared his throat. ‘Well, better get going then, no time to start like the present and all that.’

Gabriel’s face lit up. ‘Now that’s the spirit I like in my fellow colleagues! Go one then,’ he waved and the frosted mist dissipated, ‘you’d better hurry up.’

‘Yes,’ said the Principality. He turned to go, lingered, then spun around to face his boss again.

‘What exactly was it that Sandalphon saw?’

‘You being busy making friends with those human Knights, of course,’ said Gabriel. ‘We don’t know exactly where the demon Crowley has been stationed in Camelot, but you really should have realised he was there. You better watch out for him in the future. We’re almost certain he tempted one of the Knights into falling in love with you as a distraction for his demonic work.’

He uttered the last bit with disgust. Lancelot loved Aziraphale long before Crowley came to Camelot though, but the Principality didn’t say that. He felt relieved and betrayed at the same time. At least Heaven wasn’t as vigilant as he’d thought. That left him time to worry about other now more important things.

‘Yes, he’s a wily old serpent, that one. I’ll be sure to look out for him.’

‘Good, good.’ Gabriel clasped his hands behind his back and turned to stare into nothingness again. ‘You’re excused.’

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried away, moving quickly out the Hall, his mind wandering back to the two revelations he’d just had;

One, that he wasn’t going to Fall, and if Heaven didn’t know about the Love, perhaps Hell didn’t either and they were both safe.

The other was that Crowley had betrayed him. He’d vowed not to touch Arthur, yet plotted the King’s downfall all along. Gabriel seemed certain it was too late to stop it but Aziraphale was damned if he didn’t try. Just because Crowley Loved him didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Tears stung at his eyes again, but they were furious this time. He miracled his armour on and a rather baffled horse to meet him outside of the fortress and set off towards Camlann. It wasn’t far. It wasn’t too late. He wouldn’t let it be.

* * *

He saw the smoke before he heard the screams.

The horse carried him faster than any of its kind ever had, but they travelled down desolate woodland roads and no one saw it. Once the trees made way for an impressive river bank, the steed slowed down minutely and Aziraphale soon hopped off and sent it on its way to safer places.

There were fires littering the ground, small ones and larger, raging walls of it at places. The smaller ones were feasting on driftwood but the larger were fuelled by piles of bodies. Camlann, if Aziraphale remembered correctly, was a prospering village not far from here. Now the houses were aflame, and so were the people, and everywhere one looked there was death. It was praiseworthy demonic work. Crowley was sure to get a Commendation for it.

Beyond the larger fires was the battle. Aziraphale had never met Mordred, but the boy was supposed to be Arthur’s illegitimate brother and if his coup succeeded, he’d likely rise to the throne. Demonic influence over the whole of Albion… Chills crept up Aziraphale’s back as he ran towards his fellow Knights. He wasn’t much for fighting when it was to the Death, but he wouldn’t stand by and watch.

‘Aziraphale!’ shouted Sir Percival, ‘We thought you might be dead! Where have you been?!’

‘Long story – more importantly, who are we fighting except for Mordred?’

‘How did you know-’

Aziraphale cut him off by expertly blocking an arrow headed straight for Percival’s head. He used his sword to do it whilst throwing miracles left and right, hoping he’d manage to save everyone but knowing that was near impossible. Things were moving too fast, there were too many different factors to consider.

‘They are over a hundred, maybe two,’ Percival recovered quickly, ‘And good fighters, the lot of them. They came from nowhere, an errand boy showed up at the castle this morning, but we weren’t quick enough. The village-’

This time it was Percival’s turn to save the angel, running a sword through a would-be attacker, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched for it was just a boy, no older than seventeen by the looks of it.

There was no time to speak after that, and whether he liked it or not, Aziraphale fought. He never killed, always aiming to strike someone unconscious, staying focused on saving others whilst keeping himself alive. He couldn’t very well save Arthur if he was discorporated, and if this was really Crowley’s work, the demon would be here. Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale could talk him out of this. Stop the madness.

There were children in the piles of burning bodies. Children who were turning to hot ash that stung at the Knights’ cheeks. Surely Crowley wouldn’t have killed them?

Arthur. He needed to find Arthur first, make sure he was alive, and if Crowley was here it was probably to make sure his plan came to fruition. If Aziraphale could find Arthur, he’d find the Serpent too.

It was darkening quickly, the air was hot with fire and sweat and screams and if one wasn’t careful enough, one would most likely trip over a body, a limb. Mordred’s fighters wore leather armour and were easy enough to spot, but the darker it got the more they blended in with the shadows. It was hard to navigate through the throes of people, hard to see and hard to make out individual shouts and commands.

The last ray of sun drowned at the horizon and a victory horn blew. The rogue fighters retreated, stealing horses or running away on foot if they weren’t intercepted. Farther down the river bank, Mordred placed a crown on his head and laughed.

Sir Elyan led the Knights who chased after Mordred as he fled, but they were few, and even if they succeeded, what would it help? Aziraphale stared at the body down the river bank. He didn’t need to get any closer to know whose it was.

‘The King is badly injured,’ someone spoke up to his left. It was Sir Lancelot, battered and bruised and with blood trickling down his forehead.

‘We could still save him,’ Aziraphale said numbly.

‘We need a healer.’ The mortal Knight turned to fully face his friend. He looked naked, confused, afraid. Their leader was fallen. There was no one to look to for advice.

‘Take him to Avalon,’ said the angel, though it was futile hope, ‘If anyone can heal him, it’ll be there. Be quick, though – and someone needs to get back to the castle, they’ll go there next, and warn Guinevere.’

‘Elyan will go there after he tracks down Mordred,’ Lancelot said. His thigh was slashed and bleeding, but the wound was miraculously closing itself up and the pain faded by the minute. He would live.

‘There might be a cart in the village,’ the Principality said, ‘not all of it has burned, not yet. And horses. Arthur could be in Avalon before daybreak tomorrow.’

‘I will go search then.’ Lancelot gripped his friend’s shoulder, much gentler than Gabriel had been. His gaze was full of sorrow and regret. ‘Will thee join me?’

‘I have to search the battlefield, I have some skill with healing.’ Aziraphale held onto the hand before it could retreat and leave him forever. ‘I’ll join you when I am done. I promise.’

His friend nodded and set off, leaving the angel alone. He was going to heal anyone he thought might have a chance at survival, and bless the rest with a painless passing, but he also needed to find Crowley. For Guinevere’s sake, for the rest of Camelot’s.

For his rage to be let out onto something, anything, so that he could focus again.

He walked blindly, letting a pull of demonic energy lead him on. The river bank was sullied with blood that would be washed away with the next tide, as if nothing had happened here, nothing at all. Human reigns rose and fell over and over as the years trudged on. This wasn’t any different, and yet it hurt more than anything else that had come and gone before it.

The stars twinkled innocently above. Aziraphale walked on.

* * *

There was a well at the edge of the village that the fire hadn’t reached yet. It was small and made up of uneven rocks, overgrown with moss and vines and with a bucket of wood that was murky with age. Crowley was leaning against it, bouncing his leg restlessly, waiting.

Aziraphale watched from afar. He wasn’t sure yet what to say.

A shadow approached the well, filthy and ragged and in the shape of a man. His hair stuck up in dull shards of ash, his eyes were pure black and crazed. He bared his teeth in what might have been a smile.

‘All Hail Satan.’

‘Why, oh Hastur, Duke of Hell, are you here?’ sneered Crowley, pushing himself away from the well.

‘You were taking too long,’ the other demon said. ‘Why? Are you unhappy with my help?’

‘I had a plan. You just ruined it.’

Hastur bared more of his teeth.

‘You were taking too long, Hell grew impatient. What does it matter now? Arthur is fallen, your work here is done. You’ll get a Commendation for it either way. Onto the next assignment.’

Crowley started to pace, hands clenching and unclenching over and over. He was wearing the black and gold gown he’d donned in the cave, so long ago now, and red curls spilled over his shoulders like the fire in the village. Vicious and unkempt.

‘There are certain delicate matters involved in this,’ he hissed. ‘They’d… insure our future success, and you’ve just foiled all of my plans. They’ll be useless now!’ He took a few menacing steps towards Hastur, spitting, ‘And all because of your _impatience._’

‘These orders come from our superiors,’ the Duke said darkly, ‘Are you defying them?’

Crowley breathed hard. His hands clenched and unclenched. ‘No.’

‘Good. As I said, it’s all done now and I’m sure there are other ways for your plans to move forward. Beelzebub expects your rapport within a fortnight. Don’t be late.’ There was a scream in the distance and Hastur turned towards it, revelling in the smoke and flames rising from the village. ‘I’ll wrap this up. There’s still some houses left that aren’t ablaze.’

The demon moved away again, and Aziraphale waited until he’d fully disappeared into the blazing inferno with no indications of turning back. Then the angel stomped through the shrubbery that had hidden him.

‘What the Hell is this?’

Crowley spun around and his face fell into relief. ‘Aziraphale!’

‘You promised not to touch Arthur! Or Guinevere, you promised! Oh, I should have known you were lying, you- you demonic- fiend!’

‘Listen,’ Crowley begged, ‘don’t you see, I was trying to prevent it! Hell would have had me tempt Mordred into rebellion months ago, I was stalling for you-’

‘You’re a liar!’ Aziraphale cried, ‘I won’t hear a word you say from here on.’

‘I was trying to stop it!’

‘She truly was.’

They both paused in the middle of a breath. Mordred was leaning against the last house of the village, one of the few yet to burn. He was flanked by four of his rogues and wore Arthur’s shining crown with a triumphant smirk.

‘Thou shouldn’t have forsaken our alliance, Ashtoreth,’ he said, ‘Thou always knew I would prevail, and here we are.’

‘Mordred,’ Crowley’s eyes flashed. ‘You’d run if you knew what was best for you.’

‘Yet I am not the one who’s outnumbered.’

Aziraphale, though still mad, stepped in front of the would-be princess. He still had his sword in hand.

‘So you two_ did_ have an alliance. You did help them.’

‘And what an alliance that was,’ Mordred mocked and stood up straight. On his right were two archers, on his left a swordsman and a woman holding an impressive mace. ‘All the fair Lady did was whispering empty promises, stalling, leading us on. You tricked us. It was never an alliance, was it? No. Thine loyalties lay with Camelot all along.’

The five of them began moving as one, trailing forward like wolves on their prey. The archers spread further right and Aziraphale began to back lest they be surrounded.

‘If you knew what was truly best, you would both kneel before me. Perhaps I’d be persuaded to spare thine lives.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ the angel huffed. ‘This is all a- a trick, a ploy, but I won’t fall for it.’

‘Why would I trick you?’ Crowley said, and Aziraphale turned around. His yellow eyes glimmered in defeat. ‘What would be the point?’

‘I know you can’t Love. Demons can’t.’

Crowley’s mouth fell open. Around them the rogues placed themselves in a perfect circle, ready to strike, but neither of the immortals cared for them. The demon looked torn.

‘They shouldn’t,’ he said, painfully slowly, so soft that Aziraphale could scarcely believe it was his own words. They sounded foreign; it felt like coming home. ‘They really, really shouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean they can’t.’

There was no reason for Crowley to lie, was there? Not when the truth would get him executed, and it was clear that Hell didn’t know yet. Otherwise Hastur would’ve been here on different orders. If demons could fool an angel’s senses, why pretend to Love when it was their equivalent to Lust, to sin? Why not distract, start a revolution and discorporate said angel when they lay with their wings splayed out on the floor in front of a fireplace, at peace and trusting? Why not steal the angel’s wings, maim them, kill them?

Why, why, why… It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be a lie.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale sighed, ‘_Crowley._’

A horse neighed in the distance. Hooves sounded on dirt roads. Three Knights rode through the flames, swords raised, and Sir Elyan charged at Mordred with soot oozing off his armour and nearly got him – the crown fell to the ground and rolled several feet away. Behind them Sir Lancelot charged forward, Mordred cried out in rage, and thus the second fight begun.

Aziraphale shared a look with Crowley – they didn’t have time for this. Soon the rouges were tripping over their own feet, the archers becoming suddenly blind, shooting arrows at the sky. The mace fell to the ground with a loud _thunk._ They were quickly shoved to the ground and guarded by the Knights. Mordred was the only one to remain standing, and he looked frantically left and right, surrounded, outnumbered.

‘Traitor,’ Elyan accused, ‘You shall die for this!’

And that was that, wasn’t it? Without a leader the rouges would be late to Camelot, and by then Aziraphale would already be there, and he’d defend it with miracles and a Heavenly Wrath. Crowley would be there too, sneaking in a helping hand of his own he’d later deny. Guinevere would rise to the throne and rule Albion expertly and Arthur would be cured in Avalon, return home and retire, perhaps, even if he was but twenty. They might have a child, an heir, or they’d appoint a Knight as such. Perhaps even the Lady Gilbert, for even if Aziraphale would never marry her willingly, she was clever and compassionate. All would be well.

It would have been, had he not gotten lost in Crowley’s eyes. They were inhumanly serpentine at the moment, and surely the mortals would notice and question it, but they were also beautiful. Unique. Truly Crowley’s, no one else had such eyes, and Aziraphale never wanted to tear his own away from them.

_ It’s you and I,_ he longed to say, _We’ll make it work somehow, because it’s meant to be. __Love isn’t evil in any of its forms, not __pure__ Love. __It cannot be against God’s will._

A blade swished through the air to his left and tore the fabric of Crowley’s dress. He looked down at where it had embedded itself, right above the heart. The demon’s mouth opened with a slight _oh._

‘Ngk,’ said Crowley, and the angel caught him just above the ground. Behind them Mordred fell to Lancelot’s sword, and then the night turned silent.

‘Here now, it’s not so deep,’ Aziraphale said, placing a shaking hand over the growing stain. ‘It’ll only take a miracle, you’ll be up on your feet in no time.’

‘Tried to stop it,’ Crowley rasped. ‘Mor- Mordred.’

‘I know – hush now, it’ll only be a moment.’

Aziraphale placed his hand on the hilt, preparing to draw the dagger out, but Crowley pushed him away.

‘No point,’ he said.

‘Don’t be unreasonable.’

‘They’ll ask questions,’ the Serpent said, and his eyes were much darker now, pupils blown wide. ‘Heaven… not worth it. See you around soon enough, anyway...’

‘I’ll lie,’ Aziraphale said, cradling the demon’s head in his lap, ‘Like you did back in the mountains, remember? It’ll be all right, no one will notice.’

‘Angel.’ Crowley shivered, his chest heaving as if he were about to cough, but it never came. ‘Angel… I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry.’

‘But it won’t be the same.’

He did cough then, a drop of blood settling in the corner of his mouth. He looked childish, he looked scared. ‘Why not?’

_You won’t be a Princess and I won’t be a Knight. There’ll be no need to pretend._

‘No,’ said Crowley as he realised.

‘I never asked you,’ Aziraphale choked and started to rock, back and forth. ‘I never proposed.’

‘Maybe… maybe next time...’

But they both knew that wouldn’t happen. Once this bubble of a dream popped, the guilt would settle in and they’d realise how preposterous it had been, how impossible a future together really was. Aziraphale knew it with the tears that he cried, Crowley knew it with the naked fear in his eyes. It wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be, if they wished to live.

‘Please don’t go,’ the angel said. ‘Please, let me heal you. Please don’t go, Crowley, _please._ Just a little bit longer, stay with me a decade, a year, a week. I’ll do anything.’

‘Too late,’ Crowley coughed. He was pale, statuesque in the moon light, a figure of marble skin and red, pooling hair. A crimson mouth stained with blood.

Aziraphale tilted the demon’s head up until their foreheads were touching.

‘Marry me,’ he whispered.

Crowley coughed, or perhaps it was a broken, desperate laugh. It didn’t sound right, his lungs wheezed with it and his chest was wet. It was preposterous, it was a dream.

‘Yes,’ he breathed. Then, after a contemplative moment, he added, ‘I do.’

Aziraphale pulled back, feeling a smile tug at his lips with the absurdity of it, the thrill. The moon bore witness as he echoed, tearfully,

‘As do I. Always, forever.’

He looked down. Crowley’s eyes were closed. His head hung limply, stiffly at an odd angle.

‘I do,’ said the angel. It was a hollow promise, a forbidden one he could never repeat again. It died with the Lady in his arms.

‘Aziraphale,’ Sir Lancelot knelt down beside him. He pulled the dagger gently out the wound, dabbing away a last few trickles of blood. The other Knights followed suit behind him, standing vigil over the body. They didn’t speak.

‘Come,’ said Lancelot softly. ‘We’ll help carry her home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: some blood, depictions of violence (not detailed or gory)
> 
> The epilogue will be up on Tuesday.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're now at the end of the road, the last part of the story...

_21st century_

_London, England_

There were certain books even miracles couldn’t get their hands on. Most of them had perished in Alexandria’s fires, centuries, millennia ago, but some were stashed away by rich, dusty collectors who’d never read them. Such a waste. Aziraphale tried to pry the texts away from those people, but more often than not he didn’t even know exactly who had possession of the tome he was craving or whether it had survived the years at all. He’d eventually give up with the small consolation that there were other stories to read. If he was lucky, he’d forget about it after a decade or two.

Now that Adam had rebooted the Universe after Armageddon didn’t happen, he couldn’t help but hope some of those lost books weren’t quite so lost any longer. It didn’t hurt to look, either way.

He’d been sending requests out to all the collectors he knew, promising a hefty sum for any rare specimen on the market. There’d been a list with the titles he could remember, and already one of them had been found, and Aziraphale was currently pacing the bookshop waiting for it to arrive. He’d blessed the Royal Mail as well as insisting on copious amounts of bubble wrap, just to be safe.

The delivery man knocked on the door two minutes past eleven. The angel signed for the package, carried it gingerly inside, and turned the open sign to closed. It wouldn’t do to be interrupted at such an important moment of his life.

‘Hello,’ he greeted the box with as much warmth as he could muster. It was enough to make even a parcel blush. ‘_Please_ be in good condition.’

Beneath ten layers of high quality styrofoam and bubble wrap, a brown, leathery parchment lay. Aziraphale held it with reverence. He looked to the heavens.

‘Thank you.’

Of course, it wouldn’t do to open it without the proper gloves, glasses and a clean surface underneath. The parchment had once been strong, but now its thick back was frail with age, a hairs-width away from crumbling in on itself. It looked like it belonged in a museum or tucked away in an ancient tomb, but neither of those places would take as good care of it as Aziraphale. He closed the windows, afraid that the sun might upset the ink into paling even further. Then he sat down to read.

An hour later, Crowley blatantly disregarded the closed sign and sauntered into the bookshop as he always did.

‘Hi angel.’

Aziraphale, who’d been so caught up in reading he’d forgotten about the rest of the world, jumped.

‘Ah! Crowley. I’m busy.’

‘Busy with what?’ the demon asked, peering over his friend’s shoulder. The Principality blushed.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Crowley raised his eyebrows. ‘I rather thought it looked like you’d gotten a new text.’

‘Yes, well. Stating the obvious.’

‘You want to tell me about it?’

Aziraphale blushed even more furiously. He fussed with the dull reading light. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Now that’s a first,’ the demon grinned. ‘You always go on and on about your books and stories, but now you don’t want to say anything? Are you reading the satanic bible?’

‘What? No! Of course not,’ the angel said and carefully began rolling up the parchment. Crowley set a hand down to stop him, but it was quickly swatted away. ‘You can’t touch it! It’s _fragile._’

‘Then tell me what it is.’

‘No.’

The demon pouted and made another grab at the parchment.

‘Crowley!’

‘Just tell me angel, it’ll save both of us the trouble. Is it pornography? Satanic pornography, maybe? Oh – is it about that time you got drunk in Mesopotamia and made all those donkeys fly about-’

‘No,’ Aziraphale squealed, ‘Stop asking so many questions!’

That only edged him on, of course – try telling a demon not to snoop. Crowley’s grin evolved into a smirk, and next thing they knew he was jumping forward, snatching the delicate text and running away faster than a leopard with its arse on fire.

‘Crowley!’

A manic cackle echoed back from the bookshelves he’d disappeared behind. The shop appeared much larger than before, with aisles and aisles to go through, a whole new dimension to get lost in. The spiralling staircase to the upper floors spun into miles of steps with a faint, mocking light from the glass ceiling at the top, wholly unreachable.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale pleaded, ‘this is getting ridiculous.’

The laughter didn’t seize. It multiplied like a serial killer’s in the heat of a horror movie – the angel did not care for those, he’d only lasted ten minutes through the one with the murderous clown and it had not been An Enjoyable Experience. The lights were dimming and he was growing tired.

‘Please,’ he slouched against his collection on astronomy. ‘Just- let me explain.’

With a _plop!_ the staircase recoiled into a sensible three stories high. The excessive bookshelves fell away like a closing accordion and the shop appeared as its old self again; cosy and crowded like Aziraphale liked it. Too silent, though. Far too quiet, not even the tick of a clock on the wall to serve as distraction.

‘Crowley?’

Silence. That wasn’t good.

‘Please, Crowley- I can explain!’

He started walking up the stairs and saw a vibrant spot of red hunched over on the first level. In the darkness surrounded by rounded walls lined with books, a certain demon was gripping the parchment with white knuckles, eyes skimming over the text. His usual sunglasses were folded and lay on a nearby table tattered with forgotten cups of cocoa, open novellas and a half-finished knitting currently in the vague shape of a hat. Aziraphale’s heart plummeted. He began to slowly near his friend, shuffling silently over the floorboards like a zookeeper that doesn’t wish to spook the lion.

‘I just got it this morning. I didn’t know what it was, I- I’m sorry.’

Crowley looked up. His expression was unreadable. ‘Sorry? Why?’

‘I know we agreed never to speak of it again. Forgive and forget, and all that.’

‘Oh. Yeah. Right.’ He tossed the parchment onto the table, and it ripped in two. Perhaps that was for the best. ‘No harm in reading it though, is there?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale said quickly, relieved, ‘I didn’t think so either.’

‘I mean, it did- it happened, so.’ Crowley leaned back against the shelves in a pretence of nonchalance. ‘No one can deny that. Why not read about it? It happened, so why not… you know, why pretend it didn’t?’

He sounded bothered. Embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t wish to upset you.’

‘Yeah. Well, it’s in the past now, anyway, all said and done.’ He looked away, fiddling, stretching his fingers until he couldn’t help himself any longer and reached into a pocket for another pair of glasses.

They hadn’t uttered a word about it since that night under the moonlight. When Crowley turned up decades later in a new corporation, looking the same as before except for the hair and the clothes, they’d both acted like it never happened. By then the Knights of Camelot were long gone and there was no one left to remember it except for the two of them. And, apparently, this piece of parchment detailing the funeral of Princess Ashtoreth of Hummelmora. A relic of lost times.

Aziraphale felt as if they were standing on a precipice. The world had already ended, in a manner of speaking, and Heavenly judgement didn’t matter any more, so surely it couldn’t hurt… If ever there was a moment fit to ask, it would be now.

‘I know it’s silly,’ he began.

‘Why would it be silly?’

‘Just- I know you don’t like to dwell on it, but I think-’

‘_I_ don’t like to dwell on it?’ Crowley spat, ‘You’ve been avoiding it ever since we met again, in- in-’

‘Five hundred and sixty-eight,’ Aziraphale reminded him.

‘Bloody long time ago! _You’re_ the one who’s uncomfortable with it, but it happened and we can’t go back and change it now, so what’s the point?’

The angel took a final step over to the small table, glancing down at the ripped text. He might have once recognised the handwriting as Sir Lancelot’s, but the memories were fuzzier now and he didn’t look too closely in case Crowley might take offence. The demon was acting testy. One wrong move might send him out the shop for good, yet Aziraphale dared say,

‘I wouldn’t change it for the world.’

‘You sure act like you would,’ Crowley hung his head and sniffed. ‘What’s it matter anyway? We both know we don’t feel the same way about things.’

Aziraphale’s heart shattered once and for all.

‘I thought… I just thought, because you said- never mind. It doesn’t matter now, you’re quite right about that. Let’s not dwell on it.’

He picked up his famed first edition of _Pride and Prejudice_ from the table and chucked it in among its brethren. The Jane Austen collection wasn’t in the order of publishing that he’d once put them in, so he busied himself in righting that, desperate for something to do. He could ignore this as he had for centuries, he could let it go again. Crowley was his best friend. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t Crowley’s. It didn’t matter that Crowley didn’t Love him any more.

‘Don’t taunt me with it,’ the demon said lowly. ‘Just because you didn’t say it back-’

Aziraphale dropped _Sense and Sensibility_. The spine cracked, and the handwritten note _To Mr. Fell; such a respectable gentleman, as one would wish there were more of in this world, my best wishes goes to you_ slid under a bookshelf never to be seen again.

‘_What?_’

‘I _said,_ just because you didn’t say it back, doesn’t give you the right to taunt-’

‘But I did say it. Twice!’

Crowley pushed his glasses down and peered over them as if to check he wasn’t hallucinating. ‘You didn’t!’

‘I did! Right before- oh. Oh no.’ Aziraphale closed his eyes in a resigned sigh. ‘You must already have died by then. Gone to Hell, I mean- I thought you heard. All this time, I thought you knew...’

‘You said it,’ Crowley echoed, slack-jawed. He was draped so bonelessly against the shelves that he’d surely have fallen to the floor had they not been there.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Why?’

‘It hardly matters now,’ said Aziraphale, picking up the book. A minor miracle fixed the spine and it was as good as new again.

‘Angel, why?’

‘What do you think?’ he asked, spinning around on his heels, ‘I know we don’t feel the same way just as you know why I said it, so please, just let it go.’

‘I meant it too,’ said Crowley and took a step forward, around the table.

‘Perhaps then, but not any more.’

‘I do.’

‘You don’t!’ It came out shriller than he’d anticipated, but it couldn’t be helped – he needed to say it. ‘I know you don’t, so you can’t lie to me. Please don’t give me hope. I know you don’t Love me, I know how that feels and I can’t sense it any more.’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley said, stunned. ‘You’re so bloody stupid.’

A veil parted, one Aziraphale had been so used to navigating around that he’d started to forget it was there at all, and oh – behind it was the Very Thing, as shining and bright as he remembered it. Love. A cloud that drifted around the room, light and airy, shyly approaching the angel like it had wanted to for quite some time, but hadn’t dared until now. Pure Love.

‘You wily serpent,’ he sniffed. ‘You hid it.’

‘Didn’t think you felt the same,’ said Crowley. His shoulders sagged as if a heavy weight had been lifted from them. Hiding something that potent… it was near-impossible. No one had successfully done it before, not for centuries, not millennia.

‘Of course I do, don’t be daft!’

‘How could I know?’ he asked, helplessly, ‘You’ve batted away every hand I’ve offered, every time I reached out. Sixty-seven, Alpha Centauri, the band stand-’

‘I know,’ said Aziraphale, and suddenly he couldn’t bare the distance between them. More certain than he’d ever been, he pulled Crowley close and put his arms around him. ‘I’m very sorry, my dear. I didn’t have my priorities straight.’

‘Oh- okay,’ said Crowley, unused to the closeness, to touch. The angel beamed. He put his head on the Serpent’s shoulder and completed the embrace.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled into the singed jacket. It smelled burnt and Evil and every bit like Crowley himself. It was a nice smell, one Aziraphale hoped would come to infect the bookshop in the near-future, spreading out into the air like the Love that had so recently been unveiled and settling in every nook and cranny it could find.

‘I kept it.’

‘Hm?’

‘The feather,’ Aziraphale said, ‘the one I gave you.’

‘Oh.’ Crowley raised a hesitant hand and settled it on his angel’s back. After a moment it started to trace the space where wings would normally protrude, back and forth, gentle and kind. ‘Could, uh… Could I have it back?’

‘It’s already in your pocket.’ The fresh scent of a miracle spread through the air.

‘Oh. Right. Maybe, uh-’

Aziraphale leaned back at the unfamiliar tone to stare at Crowley’s now red face, but the demon swiftly dove forward and buried it in a soft, velvet shoulder, away from view.

‘Shut up.’

‘It’s all right,’ the angel said, for he thought he already knew what the question was. The prospect sent a thrill through him.

‘I haven’t preened in awhile. Maybe you could- you could help me. Hard to reach some place, you know- it’s almost molting season-’

‘I’d be happy to.’

He drew in a sharp breath, heartbeat thundering. Aziraphale was close enough to feel it, and what a wonderful thing that was.

‘I Love you.’

He beamed. ‘Do you, now?’

‘I do. You’re supposed to say it back, you know,’ Crowley huffed.

‘I thought I already had.’

‘I was dead, remember?’

‘Oh, that’s right.’

The angel hid his smile in the singed shoulder of the jacket.

‘Angel,’ Crowley whined, nails boring into the back of an old waistcoat. They fit so very well like this, clinging onto one another; it was as if God had moulded them as two halves of a whole. Six millennia later, they’d found their ways back. All was as it should be.

‘I Love you.’

Aziraphale smiled. He raised his head, and whispered into Crowley’s ear,

‘And I Love you. Always. Forever.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> It was always my intention to stay on the path of canon, so the Arthurian romance sadly wasn't meant to last. However, it was meant to be repaired in post-canon, where our beautiful ship can now live happily ever after :)
> 
> Thank you for reading this! Every kudo and comment makes my heart swell <3 You guys are the best!


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